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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570209">invisible string (tying you to me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtimestoodstill/pseuds/andtimestoodstill'>andtimestoodstill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actor-Comedian Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Fluff, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Light Angst, M/M, all my richie's have the same taste in music, brief discussions of depression/adhd/anxiety, chapter two is a long digression about goosebumps, critical breakfast burrito discourse, eddie kaspbrak's plantar fascia try to cock-block him, he's a disaster for other reasons, i guess that's just uhaul-ing, many spoilers for 1975's star wars: a new hope, richie tozier has a crush on jack black cinematic universe, whatever the opposite of a slow burn is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtimestoodstill/pseuds/andtimestoodstill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“She’s great. How long have you two been together?”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“What?” </i></p><p>  <i>“How long have you two been dating?” Richie clarified, like this new question made any fucking sense at all. </i></p><p>  <i>“Bev is not my girlfriend,” a blush rose high on Eddie’s cheeks.</i></p><p>  <i>“Oh, well, how long have you been married?”</i></p><p>  <i>“I am literally a gay man, asshole,” Eddie said, the embarrassment tasting like vitriol. Richie’s face morphed into surprise. “Haven’t you noticed me flirting with you for the last ten minutes?”</i></p><p>(In which Richie and Eddie fall in love, move in together, and get married. Not necessarily in that order)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i was in a daze, moving in the wrong direction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is inspired by <a href="https://twitter.com/bev_hm/status/1322382829259403265">this</a> thread on twitter that i couldn't stop thinking about and i honeslty can't believe it's taken me this long to write</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At the end of the bar was a man. A large man. Tall and broad shouldered, with a strong jaw that was dark with stubble. He was, unfortunately, very much Eddie’s type; grinning widely at the bartender as they slid a short glass of amber liquid across the bar to him. There was something enchanting about that smile, and Eddie wondered what those lips would taste like—</p><p>“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, snapping Eddie from his thoughts.</p><p>“Uh, a Manhattan and a tall gin and tonic, please.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is that what you’re wearing?” Bev asked as the door to Eddie’s apartment swung open.</p><p>“Hi, Bev,” Eddie replied, rolling his eyes and stepping aside to let her into the apartment. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He looked down at his suit, a two-piece dark gray Armani ensemble. “You picked this out for me.”</p><p>Bev shrugged out of her coat, revealing a skin-tight black cocktail dress of her own creation. “The suit isn’t the problem, it’s your tie.”</p><p>Eddie glanced down at the gray silk grenadine tie he had knotted into a perfect double Windsor. “<em>You</em> bought me this tie.”</p><p>Bev sighed, “yes, and it’s great to wear to work. But you’re not <em>going</em> to work.”</p><p>“Okay, then what tie <em>should</em> I wear?” Eddie asked as he tugged the knot loose.</p><p>Bev smacked his hand out of the way, slipping the tie out of his collar and tossing it somewhere behind her. “You’re not.” She turned her attention to the little pearl buttons of Eddie’s white Oxford shirt, popping the top three open.</p><p>(Embarrassingly, a furious blush rose to his cheeks)</p><p>“Nope,” Eddie slid two of the buttons back through their holes. “Not happening.”</p><p>“I thought I was your personal stylist.” She reached out to undo the buttons again, Eddie waving her hands away.</p><p>“I never said that. I asked you for outfit advice <em>one time</em> for a date because the guy was ten years younger than me and I wanted to make sure that our waiter didn’t think I was his dad.”</p><p>“But my pick got you laid, didn’t it?” Eddie reluctantly nodded. “Then you should know to listen to me.”</p><p>“Fine.” Eddie popped an extra button open. Bev leveled him with a disapproving gaze, blue eyes narrowing. He sighed and loosened the third button.</p><p>“Alright!” she cheered, painted lips curving up into a grin. “You ready to go?”</p><p>“Yeah, let me just grab my coat.” Eddie made his way to the coat closet by the front door, rifling through his options.</p><p>“Speaking of,” Bev slipped her coat back on and followed Eddie to the door. “It’s cold as shit in here. Is there something wrong with the heat?”</p><p>Eddie gingerly pulled a black wool overcoat off its hanger. “Yeah, the living room radiator is busted.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves and buttoned the front. “It’s fine in my bedroom, thankfully, but Rob refuses to pay to get it fixed.”</p><p>“That seems illegal,” Bev said, skeptical.</p><p>“It definitely is, but he made it pretty clear that if I gave him any more trouble, he wouldn’t renew my lease in January.”</p><p>“And that’s <em>not</em> illegal?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I haven’t had time to look into it. But I also don’t want to speak to Rob Gray again for a long, long time.”</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” Bev shuddered, pulling her coat a little closer to her body. “Your landlord is a creepy sonofabitch.”</p><p>“You can say that again.” Eddie patted his pockets, checking that he had his phone, wallet, and keys. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” Bev slipped by and out into hall while Eddie turned off the lights and locked up.</p><p>“Hurry up, our Uber is almost here.”</p><p>“I’m coming,” Eddie followed her down the hallway, pulling a scarf out of the oversized pocket of his coat and wrapping it around his neck. They passed right by the metal death-trap advertised as an elevator. As a rule, Eddie did not use the elevator in his building unless there was some kind of threat upon his life. Thankfully, he only lived on the third floor of his building, so always taking the stairs wasn’t really an issue.</p><p>(If he was being totally honest with himself, Eddie hated his apartment. Not just the building, but his unit and his shudder-inducing creep of a landlord. He hated living in Tribeca, a borough who’s only redeemable quality was the short commute to Eddie’s office, which was square in the middle of the financial district. If trying to find an apartment in this city wasn’t an absolute nightmare, he would have moved long ago)</p><p>Their Uber (a shiny black suburban) pulled up just as they stepped out into the chilly November air. Bev climbed in first, sliding across the leather seats and chatting amiably with the driver. Eddie buckled his seatbelt and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his emails.</p><p>“Nope,” Bev said, reaching over and locking his phone. “No work tonight.”</p><p>“<em>Tonight</em> hasn’t even started,” he sighed, but didn’t unlock his phone and go back to reading emails.</p><p>“Can you promise me that you won’t just sulk in the corner nursing Manhattans all night?”</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, “I’ll try.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know. This whole thing was my idea, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s just your fucked-up way of paying penance for working on Wall Street.”</p><p>“Technically, our building isn’t on Wall Street,” he said after a long moment.</p><p>(Bev’s half-amused snort was offending enough to keep Eddie from saying anything else on the matter)</p><p>“What I’m trying to say,” she said, patting Eddie placatingly on the knee, “is that I want you to try to have fun tonight.”</p><p>“Just because I don’t like talking to strangers doesn’t mean that I don’t have fun at these kinds of things.” Bev’s expression turned skeptical. “I mean it! I like five-course dinners and silent auctions!”</p><p>“No one likes silent auctions. The fun part of auctions are the auctioneers.”</p><p>“I like watching middle-aged women passive-aggressively fight over spa weekends in the Catskills so they can try and save their failing marriages.”</p><p>“Jesus,” she said through a laugh. “You really do have strong feelings about silent auctions, but I doubt that’s going to be the vibe tonight.”</p><p>“You’re 40 years old, you can’t just use <em>vibe</em> in a sentence.”</p><p>“I’m 40 years old, I can do whatever the fuck I want.” She slipped her arm through Eddie’s and leaned against his shoulder. “Just because you’re 40 doesn’t mean you have to act like it,” her tone was kind, voice dipped low. “Live a little.”</p><p>(She was right, of course. Eddie had spent most of his twenties acting like he was 40; so now what the hell was he supposed to do?)</p><p>“I’ll give it my best shot,” he said, tipping his head to rest on the top of her ginger head. “For one night only, though.”</p><p>Eddie could feel, more than hear, Bev’s laughter. “You know what? I’ll take it.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Have you tried the figs?” Bev asked, sidling up next to Eddie. “They’re to die for.” She held out her hors d’oeuvres plate. Eddie picked up one of the pastry-wrapped figs and took a bite. It was more than just fruit and buttery pastry, there was tangy goat cheese and a spiced chutney. Eddie wondered just how mad Bev would be if he tried to take the plate and dash away to eat the rest of them in secret.</p><p>“Holy shit,” he said, mouth full.</p><p>“Right? I’m going to go get more.”</p><p>“Wait,” Eddie pulled her back to his side.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll get enough to share.”</p><p>“No,” Eddie sighed. “Well, yes, do that.” Bev laughed, Eddie continuing. “But you keep disappearing. I’m this close to standing in the corner and drinking alone.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said, red brows furrowing. “I just ran into a couple of designer friends; I didn’t mean to ditch you.”</p><p>“This is just like senior prom all over again,” he huffed.</p><p>“I apologized for that a million times!”</p><p>Eddie couldn’t help but crack a smile, his tough veneer crumbling in the presence of Bev’s repentant expression. “I’m kidding. It’s fine, but I would like to hang out with my best friend at some point this evening.”</p><p>“How about this,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll go get us some hors d’oeuvres—” Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Bev cut him off, “lots of the figs, I promise.” Eddie grinned at her as she circled back to her original proposal, “I’ll get the snacks, you grab the drinks, and I’ll meet you over by the silent auction tables.”</p><p>“You got a deal, Marsh,” Eddie stuck out his hand to shake on it. Bev took the bait, Eddie reaching out with his left hand to swipe the last two figs off her plate.</p><p>“You bastard!” she exclaimed as Eddie popped one into his mouth. Not wanting to embarrass himself by spitting baked figs everywhere, he just shrugged and smirked mischievously at her. “You’ll pay for that, Kaspbrak.”</p><p>Bev went off on her merry way to stock up on hors d’oeuvres, Eddie turning on one heel to walk in the opposite direction towards the bar. The bartenders were busy when he sidled up to the counter, one of them acknowledging Eddie with a nod. While he waited, Eddie took the opportunity to people watch, gaze sliding over well-dressed people socializing, waiters carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres, and, at last, the other sad sacks hanging around the bar.</p><p>At the end of the bar was a man. A large man. Tall and broad shouldered, with a strong jaw that was dark with stubble. He was, unfortunately, very much Eddie’s type; grinning widely at the bartender as they slid a short glass of amber liquid across the bar to him. There was something enchanting about that smile, and Eddie wondered what those lips would taste like—</p><p>“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, snapping Eddie from his thoughts.</p><p>“Uh, a Manhattan and a tall gin and tonic, please.”</p><p>“You got it,” they nodded and turned to start making Eddie’s drinks.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie tried to catch another glimpse of the man at the end of the bar, but he was gone; swallowed by the crowd.</p><p>“Here you go.” The bartender placed Eddie’s drink on the bar in front of him. The event was open bar, but Eddie left a handful of singles on the counter as he thanked the bartender and then took the drinks in hand.</p><p>Eddie wandered through the crowd away from the main dining room and towards the silent auction, keeping one eye peeled for the broad-shouldered man to no avail. He couldn’t find Bev either, but that was unsurprising.</p><p>(She took snack duty very seriously; it was one of the many things he loved about her)</p><p>While he waited for Bev to arrive, Eddie took a cursory peek at the silent auction sheets. There were a few items that caught his eye, making bids on a wine basket and a coupon for a jam-making class that he thought would be a nice Christmas gift for Bev and Ben. Some of the higher-ticket items (a weekend stay at a ski resort in the Poconos and a pair of courtside Knicks tickets in particular) had racked up some considerable bids already. Eddie was glad to see that all of the items had bids so far.</p><p>“Ooh,” Bev said, appearing at Eddie’s shoulder. He was stopped in front of a display of sustainable, high-end luggage. “Put me down for $100, my hands are full.”</p><p>Eddie set his Manhattan aside and wrote down Bev’s bid. “You wanna look around?”</p><p>“Sure, but I doubt you’ll find any wine-drunk housewives here.”</p><p>“Yeah, this event has a much different <em>vibe</em>,” he said emphatically, rolling his eyes, “than the office holiday party.”</p><p>Bev laughed. “Here,” she held out a plate of appetizers. They awkwardly traded the plate for her drink, somehow managing not to spill anything.</p><p>There was a random selection of hors d’oeuvres on the plate, all of them delicious, though the figs were still his favorite. Bev made a couple more bids for herself, though she did sneakily bid $150 on ballroom dancing lessons under Eddie’s name.</p><p>“That’s identity theft!”</p><p>“No it’s not,” she scoffed, moving down the line to make another bid as Eddie Kaspbrak.</p><p>“Stop it!” he pulled the bid sheet towards him to see that she had bid $120 dollars on a micro-brewery tour. “I don’t even like beer.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re okay with the ballroom lessons? I guess I’ll just increase your bid then.”</p><p>“Nope,” Eddie plucked the pen from her hand.</p><p>“C’mon, Eddie. It’s for a good cause! Plus, there’s still like three hours left of the auction. You probably won’t win.”</p><p>“Could you at least put me down for stuff I would actually want?”</p><p>“Can do,” she grinned.</p><p>They spent another ten minutes or so prowling the silent auction before making their back into the dining room. Just as they were getting back to their table, Bev perked up at the sight of someone across the room. “Oh! I think that’s Kay McCall. Eddie, do you mind—”</p><p>“Go,” he took Bev’s gin and tonic (they stopped for refills on the way back to their table) and shooed her away.</p><p>He walked over to their table, settling into his seat and leaving Bev’s drink at her empty place. Without Bev at his side, watching his every move, Eddie took the opportunity to glance around the room, looking for the man he saw at the bar earlier. It was a fruitless endeavor, there were almost thirty tables, seating ten people each; there was no way he was going to find a man he only got a passing glance of from twenty feet away amongst all these unfamiliar faces.</p><p>(Not that it would matter, really. Even if Eddie found him, it was doubtful he would do anything about it. Eddie just wanted to stare at him a little longer)</p><p>“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bev said, sliding into her seat. Just in time, too; the waitstaff coming around to drop off appetizers. Eddie had ordered a vegan wedge salad, while Bev ordered the ceviche tasting plate.</p><p>“How do you know Kay?”</p><p>“The short answer is that we dated in college, but the long answer is that we also dated after we graduated.” Eddie snorted into his drink, Bev shaking in quiet laughter next to him. “Just kidding. Not about the dating thing, that’s true. But we went to Parson’s together, she writes and illustrates this sapphic web comic. It’s amazing. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years, it was nice to catch up a bit.”</p><p>“There is no one I went to college with that I want to interact with ever again.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s because you were a stats major.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Eddie downed the last of his Manhattan, “don’t remind me.”</p><p>“Right, sorry. Tonight, you’re Eddie the Twunk. No tragic backstory, just a full-time slut.”</p><p>“Shut up.” After a moment, Eddie added, “also, I’m not a Twunk.”</p><p>“You’re a Twunk.</p><p>“I’m too old to be a Twunk.”</p><p>Bev levelled him with a Look. “Then what are you?”</p><p>Eddie turned away, focusing on his salad. “I don’t ascribe to any labels.”</p><p>She laughed incredulously, “oh my god. Either you are a Twunk or you’re something much more embarrassing.”</p><p>Eddie fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. “Leo,” his most recent ‘boyfriend’, “called me a dolphin.” Bev raised a single, well-defined brow. “Like an athletic, but hairless, Bear.”</p><p>Bev doubled over in laughter, half-heartedly trying to smother the sound with a hand. Once she managed to catch her breath and compose herself, she said, “you need to stop sleeping with guys in their twenties.”</p><p>“I haven’t since I turned 40,” he said, far too defensive even despite being in agreement with her.</p><p>“Good, it’s not a good look.”</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me. It just seems like the only guys who are into me are 20-year-olds with daddy issues.” Eddie took a sip of his water, thinking back on his dating history with distaste. “You’re lucky your days of casual dating are well-behind you. It sucks out there. It’s all apps and dick pics. In a city of what? 8 million people?  It seems like it’s impossible to actually meet people.”</p><p>Bev hummed thoughtfully. “You should probably get off of Grindr.”</p><p>He waved her off. “I deleted Grindr <em>months</em> ago. But it’s not like I meet any gay men in my line of work. Or at the very least, gay-men-that-I-can-stand in my line of work.”</p><p>“Is that why you bought us tickets to this $500-a-plate LGBT charity dinner?”</p><p>“No,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to put some of my Wall Street blood money to good use.”</p><p>“Well, at least you’re finally admitting it.” Bev looked posed to continue on, but she was cut off by an amplified voice over the speakers.</p><p>“Good evening!” Eddie turned towards the stage to find a well-dressed man a few years younger than him standing there. He paused for light applause, also giving everyone the chance to finish off their conversations and turn their attention to him. “My name is Adrian Mellon and I am the social media director at PrideAid and your illustrious emcee for this evening.” There was more applause, Adrian looking awfully pleased with himself. “Thank you, it really is a heavy crown to bear, being the sole object of all you beautiful people’s attention.” There was a smattering of laughter. “Just kidding, of course. I only have eyes for my lovebug,” he winked at someone just off stage. “Hi, Don,” Adrian grinned, giving his partner a little wave before turning his attention back to the crowd.</p><p>“Anyway,” the mischievous glint to his expression melted into something more charismatic and amiable. “This evening we have a whole host of queer entertainment who have donated their time to be here tonight.” Adrian paused for more applause.</p><p>“But before we get started, I wanted to thank you, on behalf of everyone at PrideAid for being here tonight. For those of you who don’t know who we are or what we do, PrideAid is a registered non-profit organization dedicated to helping LGBTQ youth and adults in the New York City area with physical and mental health, educational, financial, housing, and legal services.”</p><p>There was another round of applause, Adrian waiting for the clamor to die down before continuing. “I am a product of PrideAid, and all of the best things in my life have come from this organization in one way or another. When I was in high school, PrideAid helped me to make friends, apply to colleges, and find the courage to come out to my family. But the greatest thing PrideAid ever gave me—besides my job which I am very grateful for, thank you Nico—is love.”</p><p>The audience <em>aww</em>-ed, Adrian’s mouth turning up into sly grin. “I could talk about Don all night long, but that’s not what you’re here for. Also, I don’t want to get fired.” Adrian paused for laughter, “if you think I’m funny, you’ll think our first guest is hilarious. That’s not a compliment, mind you. That’s a comment on your poor judgement.” Eddie found himself chuckling at that, Bev smiling at him sidelong.</p><p>“Without further ado,” Adrian said as the crowd died down, “Disgraced comedian and dubious queer icon, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier!”</p><p>The audience erupted into applause, Eddie clapping along despite not knowing who Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was. From the left side of the stage a man walked out, smiling and waving at the crowd. At once Eddie recognized him. It was the man from the other end of the bar, somehow looking bigger and broader standing up on stage, blinking against the bright lights.</p><p>(Since he wasn’t leaning against the bar anymore, Eddie could see that under his smart-looking sport coat, Richie was donning a, frankly, very ugly patterned button up shirt. From this distance, it was difficult to say exactly what the pattern was, but if Eddie had to guess, it was a multi-colored patchwork of an animal of some kind. Cats, perhaps?)</p><p>“Thank you, Adrian,” Tozier said, voice much more nasally than Eddie had expected. He turned his attention back to the crowd, smiling broadly in a way that mad Eddie feel a little light-headed. “Go give Don a kiss for me, yeah?” Adrian had walked off the stage and into the wings, so Eddie could see or hear what he did in response to Tozier’s request, but his resulting laugh and wide grin made Eddie’s heart flutter pathetically in his chest.</p><p>Richie Tozier turned his attention back to the crowd. “Hi,” he said at last, the air finally returning to the room. “How are you guys doing tonight?” There were cheers from the crowd. “Wow, what a good-looking group of motherfuckers you guys are. Or father-fuckers if that’s more your speed. Hell, how about you non-binary parent-fuckers?”</p><p>Eddie’s laugh surprised him just as he was taking an ill-timed sip of his water. He smothered his cough as a few people near the back of the room cheered. With another sip of water, Eddie got his coughing and sputtering under control, attention returning to Richie Tozier.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Bev asked, leaning close and her voice dipped low.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he managed to reply, eyes glued to the man on stage. “I think.”</p><p>Bev studied him for a moment, her face shifting into amusement. “Oh my god.” She glanced at the comedian and then back at her friend. “You think he’s hot.”</p><p>“No, I don’t,” Eddie hissed.</p><p>“You do. You want to climb the Trashmouth like a tree.” Bev, growing excited by the prospect of embarrassing her friend, was almost speaking at full volume now.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” he pressed a hand to her mouth, Bev’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She stuck out her tongue to lick his palm, Eddie pulling back his hand like it burned him. “Ew, what are you, eight years old?”</p><p>“You’ve known me since we were six,” Bev replied, looking like the cat that got the cream. “You should know if I’ve suddenly de-aged 32 years.”</p><p>“Well it’s been 32 years since you last thought it was okay to <em>lick my fucking</em>—”</p><p>“And look at this guy!” Richie Tozier exclaimed, startling Eddie for some reason. He turned away from Bev’s smirking face to look at the man on stage. Tozier was grinning almost maniacally, pointing out into the crowd, seemingly right at Eddie. “He’d rather argue with his date than listen to me!” Laughter rolled through the crowd and a furious blush rose to Eddie’s cheeks.</p><p>“All you young, hot gays have it so easy. I have to get up on stage and make a fool out of myself to feed the monster inside me that subsists purely on attention from strangers and cat videos; and I still go home alone!” Tozier paused for laughter, one side of his mouth quirking up in a self-deprecating grin. “And, look, I’ll be honest with you guys. I was never a young, hot gay. If you can believe it, I looked even goofier in my youth than I do now. And I didn’t come out until I was 35. Way, <em>way</em>,” he emphasized, peering out over the chuckling crowd, “past my prime.”</p><p>Richie took a sip of water from a glass placed on the stool behind him. “I’ve learned everything I know about the Young Hot Gays of New York City the way everyone who isn’t one does, eavesdropping on their conversations during brunch at the Rabbithole in Brooklyn” there was a loud <em>whoop</em> from the back of the room, which made Tozier chuckle, “and from Grindr.” This time, there were a few different cheers from different corners of the room.</p><p>“Unsurprisingly, I have to troll all the well-known hook-up apps to get any. What I do find surprising, though, and what drives my perpetually married friend, Stan, crazy, is that I seem to exclusively attract Young Hot Gays.” Tozier paused for another sip of water. “Like, what is it with you guys? Just kidding, I know why; it’s because you all have daddy issues.”</p><p>Eddie couldn’t quite smother his laughter, Bev giving him a Look out of the corner of his eye. He turned away, gaze flicking back over to Richie Tozier.</p><p>“And I don’t just say that, I <em>know</em> it. Because they keep calling me <em>Daddy</em> in bed.” Tozier paused for laughter, his face twisted up into a pained expression. Embarrassingly, Eddie felt his face color. Luckily, Bev was too preoccupied with laughing at Tozier’s joke to notice this reaction the comedian. “And I’m not here to shame you if you have a daddy kink, god knows I like some freaky shit in bed, but I am not a <em>daddy</em>, you know? For fuck’s sake, I’m a bottom!”</p><p>The audience was roiling with laughter and Eddie had to keep very still to not alert Bev to the blush furiously burning across his cheeks. Eddie took a long sip of his water to try and remedy his suddenly very dry mouth.</p><p>“I get it, I’m old and I’ve got a dad bod; but I don’t want to be your daddy.” Tozier paused as the audience laughed, taking another sip of water. “Needless to say, I’ve stopped dating Young, Hot Gays. And deleted Grindr. Though, those things did not happen at the same time.” He grimaced sheepishly at the crowd as they laughed. “I’m a very weak and very lonely man,” Tozier said imploringly.</p><p>“But at the end of the day, I’m over the casual sex scene. I’m forty-god-dammed-years-old and I’m ready to settle down with a nice man. I want the whole kit and kaboodle. 2.5 kids, picket fence, and a dog. Except I don’t want kids,” Tozier paused, a few people behind Eddie snickering, “and I’m allergic to dogs,” more laughter, “also I really like my apartment and I don’t want to move.” Tozier’s bushy brows drew together and his mouth twisted into a frown. After a moment, he shook the expression off. “I promise that I’m ready to settle down, though.”</p><p>Even Bev couldn’t hold back her laughter at that, glancing over at Eddie sidelong. Her amused expression melted into something more mischievous as she looked at him. “Stop undressing him with your eyes,” Bev whispered, leaning close.</p><p>“Shut up, Beverly,” he hissed back.</p><p>(Eddie resented the fact that Bev knew him well enough to recognize the way Eddie’s eyes followed Richie Tozier’s tall and broad form as he paced back and forth across the stage, telling a story about perpetually-married-Stan and one of Richie’s dates gone wrong with one of the Young Hot Gays of New York)</p><p>“That’s all I have time for tonight,” Tozier said, grinning as the crowd’s laughter died down after his final joke. “Adrian told me to thank you all for your supporting PrideAid, but really I should thank you for paying upwards of five hundred dollars a plate to look at my ugly mug for the last 20 minutes.” He paused as the crowd laughed. “I’ll take your laughter as the consolation prize it is,” Tozier chuckled, deep and sweet like honey. “I’m Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, and please don’t call me <em>daddy</em>. Thank you and goodnight!”</p><p>Richie walked off the stage, smiling and waving, as the audience applauded. Eddie felt the air <em>woosh</em> back into his lungs once Tozier was out of his sight. He hadn’t even realized how tight his chest felt until the pressure had released. He reached for his water, draining it until there was just ice in the glass.</p><p>“He made you literally and figuratively thirsty, huh?” Bev said, smirking.</p><p>“I should have brought Mike. Or your husband.” Eddie glanced around in hope of finding a server to refill his glass.</p><p>Bev laughed, pushing her mostly full glass of water towards Eddie. “It’s not my fault they’re both out of town. I kind of resent that Ben didn’t take me with him.”</p><p>“To <em>Houston</em>?” Eddie asked before taking another long sip from Bev’s glass. “Why the fuck would you want to go there?”</p><p>“He goes all frat boy when he’s with his college buddies. I find it very hot.”</p><p>“Gross.”</p><p>“You were practically just drooling over a comedian who calls himself the <em>Trashmouth</em>.”</p><p>“You were the one who told me to stop dating guys in their twenties.”</p><p>Bev paused, red brows furrowing together. “What are we arguing about?”</p><p>Eddie huffed out a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw servers coming by each table with trays full of entrees. “No fucking clue.” A server slid his and Bev’s plates in front of them, both of them having ordered the miso glazed salmon, which, just by the looks of it, was a great choice on their parts.</p><p>A server refilled their water glasses, Eddie lifting his and holding it out towards Bev. She smiled and did the same, tapping her glass against Eddie’s. “Thanks for coming with me tonight.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t miss it,” she grinned, blue eyes sparkling. “Especially when you’re paying.”</p><p>***</p><p>It didn’t take long for Bev to disappear after dinner was done, recognizing another person (from college or Fashion Week or some other inane social function that Eddie, for all he loved her, didn’t give a shit about) across the room and flouncing away. Eddie’s Manhattans from earlier had worn off, so he figured he might as well use the alone time to work on his buzz and wander around the silent auction tables. Again.</p><p>“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, smiling wanly at Eddie.</p><p>“A Manhattan, please.”</p><p>“Put it on my tab,” a voice from behind Eddie said. “This guy deserves a drink after putting up with my heckling.”</p><p>The bartender had moved on from Eddie as soon as he ordered, so she didn’t actually hear the other man, for that Eddie was grateful. He turned, his expression kept perfectly neutral despite the tightness Eddie felt in his chest at the first glimpse of Richie Tozier, up close and personal.</p><p>“It’s an open bar, asshole.”</p><p>Tozier grinned brightly, from this distance Eddie could see that his front teeth were a little buck-toothed and crooked. It was, unfortunately, very endearing. “I know. That’s what we in the biz call a <em>joke</em>.”</p><p>“Weird, I didn’t find it very funny.”</p><p>“Most people don’t,” Richie quipped and then stuck out a hand. “Richie Tozier.”</p><p>Eddie reached out, reigning in his inexplicable eagerness until it read closer to hesitance. “Eddie.” He slid his hand against Richie’s, which was warm and callused and was big enough to cover Eddie’s almost entirely.</p><p>“Eddie...” Richie trailed off, obviously waiting for Eddie to supply his surname. Unfortunately for him, Eddie was all too distracted by the press of their palms against one another to respond. “Spaghetti?”</p><p>“What?” Eddie asked, dropping Richie’s hand at last.</p><p>(He felt several degrees cooler, all at once)</p><p>“Eddie Spaghetti?”</p><p>It took a moment (or two, everything was going kind of hazy around the edges) for Eddie to catch on. “What the fuck? No, my last name isn’t <em>spaghetti</em>. No one’s last name is <em>spaghetti</em>—”</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>Eddie sighed exasperatedly. “I know that if I was born with the last name <em>spaghetti</em>, I would report my parents for child abuse.”</p><p>Richie let out a single, honking laugh. Eddie was (embarrassingly) endeared by this as well. “I think it’s pretty cute,” he said at last, shrugging with what seemed like his whole body, but perhaps it just seemed like that because his shoulders were so broad.</p><p>“Your Manhattan,” the bartender said, interrupting Eddie’s little reverie.</p><p>“Oh,” he turned, one hand going to his pocket for his wallet and the other reaching out for the drink. “Thank you—what are you doing?” he asked Richie who was sliding a five-dollar bill across the bar and sending the bartender off.</p><p>“Since I can’t pay for your drink, I might as well tip the bartender for you.” Richie turned his body so he was leaning on the bar sideways, one hand wrapped around a rocks glass with what looked like an Old Fashioned in it.</p><p>Now that they were face to face, Eddie could finally identify the god-awful print on his shirt. He was displeased to learn that his earlier guess was correct, and that Richie Tozier was wearing a horrendous (in every sense of the word) shirt covered in brightly colored cats.</p><p>Richie took a sip from his glass, Eddie following the movement with his eyes (it was the only thing that could distract him from Richie’s ugly shirt). “So, are you going to tell me your last name? Because I can call you <em>Eddie Spaghetti</em>, but something tells me you don’t like that very much.”</p><p>Eddie (in a desperate attempt to <em>stop looking at Richie Tozier, get your shit together, Kaspbrak</em>) took a sip of his drink, placing it carefully back on the bar top before saying, “Kaspbrak. Eddie Kaspbrak.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Eds.”</p><p>“That’s not my name either, dickwipe.”</p><p>(Eddie was almost embarrassed by the slip of the tongue, but he was 40-goddamn-years-old and he was well past the age where he gave a single shit what guys in bars thought about him)</p><p>Thankfully, Richie grinned even wider. “I think you could give the Trashmouth a run for his money.”</p><p>A few choice responses to Richie’s statement came to mind (<em>wanna get out of here and find out?</em>), but Eddie wrestled his tongue into compliance (<em>wanna wrestle my tongue into compliance?</em>) and took another sip of his cocktail.</p><p>Before Eddie could respond, there was a warm weight pressed against his back. “Order me a G&amp;T, will ya?” Bev asked. “I’m-oh!” her gaze finally landed on Richie.</p><p>“Hi,” Richie said, smile tightening almost imperceptibly (had Eddie not been staring at Richie’s lips he probably wouldn’t have noticed it), one hand reaching out for Bev to shake. “Richie Tozier.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you. Beverly Marsh,” she said, shaking the outstretched hand. “Your set was great.”</p><p>“Thank you. Though, I don’t know how much I trust you, seeing as the two of you were arguing for most of it.”</p><p>Bev had the decency to look properly chagrined. “Ah, well, so sorry about that.”</p><p>“Eh, it’s no biggie. I’m a professional, and usually I can block it out.” His eyes flicked over to Eddie and then away when he realized Eddie was already looking at him. “Let me get that drink for you, Beverly, as pay back for calling you out.”</p><p>“That’s not—” the words died on Bev’s tongue as Richie hailed down a bartender.</p><p>“Can I get a gin and tonic for this lovely lady right here?”</p><p>“<em>Tall</em> gin and tonic,” Eddie corrected, smiling at Richie sidelong. The bartender nodded in assent and went on his way. “Bev’s a lightweight,” he clarified.</p><p>“Can it, Kaspbrak,” she said, poking him in the side.</p><p>“It’s <em>true</em>,” Eddie rolled his eyes. With a quick glimpse over at Richie, he saw the other man smiling. “The first time she ever got drunk, all it took was a shot of vodka and half a can of PBR.”</p><p>“I was 14!” she exclaimed, abashed. “And I’m a lady with delicate sensibilities.”</p><p>Eddie snorted, reaching for his drink for a sip. “Sure you are.”</p><p>“I resent that.” The bartender returned with her drink, Richie sliding a few bills over to him surreptitiously.</p><p>“It’s good to know you’re always like this,” Richie joked, turning back to them. “And not just during stand-up sets.”</p><p>“It was your fault we were arguing,” Eddie shot back; his mouth moving faster than his brain, as it almost always did.</p><p>“Oh?” Richie asked, dark brows rising up toward his hairline. “And pray tell, Eds—”</p><p>“Not my fucking name,” Eddie grumbled.</p><p>“—What <em>were</em> you arguing about?”</p><p>“Yeah, Eds,” Bev said, a barely contained smile tugging at her painted mouth. “What <em>were </em>we arguing about?”</p><p>“Your ugly-ass shirt,” Eddie said, the words tumbling out; his motormouth saving him for once. “What the fuck is that thing, dude?”</p><p>Richie glanced down, as if he had forgotten the shirt he had put on this evening. “My manager picked this out for me. She said it was <em>hip</em>.”</p><p>“Does she hate you?”</p><p>Richie snorted into his glass, taking a sip of his drink. “I hope not, I’ve been trusting her to dress me for gigs for like five years now. It would be really embarrassing if she’s been pulling my leg this whole time.”</p><p>“Well, I think it looks good on you. And I’m a designer, so I actually know what I’m talking about.”</p><p>“I’ll let Nikki know she has Beverly Marsh’s seal of approval.”</p><p>“You better,” Bev glanced away, blue eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh! I think that’s Carrie. Eddie, do you mind—”</p><p>“Go,” Eddie laughed shaking her off his back. “Have fun.”</p><p>“You’re the best,” she smacked a kiss on to his cheek. “It was nice meeting you, Richie.”</p><p>“You, too, Bev,” he said as she loped off. Richie turned back to Eddie, a smile tugging at his mouth. “She’s great. How long have you two been together?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“How long have you two been dating?” Richie clarified, like this new question made any fucking sense at all.</p><p>“Bev is <em>not</em> my girlfriend,” a blush rose high on Eddie’s cheeks.</p><p>“Oh, well, how long have you been married?”</p><p>“I am literally a gay man, asshole,” Eddie said, the embarrassment tasting like vitriol. Richie’s face morphed into surprise. “Haven’t you noticed me flirting with you for the last ten minutes?”</p><p>“Oh. Huh,” Richie said at last, expression glassy.</p><p>“<em>Huh</em>? Is that all you have to say?”</p><p>“Fuck off, I’m not used to hot dudes flirting with me.”</p><p>“I highly doubt that,” Eddie scoffed. Richie looked over at him, wide-eyed. “You’re tall and marginally famous.”</p><p>That made Richie break, huffing out a quiet laugh, leaning over to press his shoulder against Eddie’s. “I’ll have you know, Eds, I am not famous enough or tall enough for guys to settle for a schlub like me.”</p><p>Eddie felt his brows knit together, eyes narrowing. “You’re hot, Richie, you know that, right?” Richie didn’t respond, didn’t even look over at Eddie, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “It’s important to me that you know that.”</p><p>At last, Richie’s gaze slid over to Eddie, a small, hopeful smile, curving at his very kissable mouth. Eddie dragged his gaze up from Richie’s lips to his wide, hopeful eyes. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”</p><p>Eddie looked away to take a long, slow slip of his cocktail. After swallowing, he glanced over at Richie to find that the other man was already looking back. “You wanna go bid on silent auction items under Bev’s name?”</p><p>Richie laughed, a bright, happy thing. “Abso-fucking-lutley, Eds.” Richie stood, towering over Eddie as he rose to his full height. “Lead the way.”</p><p>***</p><p>With Richie a warm weight at his side, Eddie slowly wandered through the silent auction tables, bidding on canning lessons and beekeeping tours and a basket full of high-end golf balls.</p><p>“How pissed will Bev be if she wins any of this stuff?” Richie asked, writing down a bid of $275 dollars on a selection of fancy balsamic vinegars. Glancing over, Eddie saw that he was writing down his own name as opposed to Bev’s on the auction sheet.</p><p>“I doubt she’ll win anything, there’s another hour left. And even if she does, I haven’t made a bid that she can’t afford. Plus,” Eddie made a bid on a set of criminally spicy hot sauces, “I paid for her ticket tonight, she can cough up some cash of her own.”</p><p>Richie laughed, a low, quiet chuckle between them. Eddie kept his gaze cast down towards the silent auction table to hide his pleased smile. “Is there a reason,” Richie started, pausing to finish up a bid under Bev’s name for an artfully wrapped basket of upscale car wax, “that you, a literal gay man, as you called yourself—” Eddie scoffed, Richie chuckling again, “brought a woman as your date to a LGBT charity event?”</p><p>“Bev’s been my best friend since we were six fucking years old.” Eddie glanced up, catching a glimpse of Richie’s amused expression, before he continued on. “And she’s bi. Also I <em>wanted</em> Bev’s husband and my friend Mike to come; but Ben’s in Houston for his college homecoming and Mike is at a fucking librarian convention.”</p><p>“A <em>Librarian convention</em>? I don’t know Eds, that kinda seems like a made-up excuse. Librarians don’t like to convene; they’re introverts.”</p><p>“He’s literally in Florida right now, so it’s a real commitment to the bit just to get out of a fancy dinner.”</p><p>“Maybe he’s going to Disney World.”</p><p>“Highly doubtful,” Eddie replied. “Mike wrote his undergraduate honor’s thesis about the Walt Disney Company’s legacy of neo-colonialism and revisionist history.”</p><p>Eddie watched Richie’s eyes narrow infinitesimally, seemingly formulating his response. “Hey, sometimes a guy’s got an itch only Splash Mountain can scratch.”</p><p>“Is that the ride based off of <em>Song of the South</em>?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Richie hummed, making a bid (for himself) on a hand-crafted wooden cutting board.</p><p>“Well I doubt Mike would ride that, seeing as he’s a black man.”</p><p>Richie paused, pen frozen on the page. “Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Eddie said, fighting back his bemused expression. “And I don’t think he’d find Splash Mountain as fun as you do.”</p><p>“Sometimes a guy’s got an itch only,” Richie paused, probably trying to figure out what the least problematic Disney attraction was, “the Teacups can scratch?”</p><p>Eddie, feeling light as air and a little magnanimous, said, “I’ll give you that,” mouth twitching up in a smile.</p><p>Richie’s eyes narrowed behind his thick lenses (how blind was he?), studying Eddie intently. “Are you fucking with me?”</p><p>Eddie couldn’t bite back the unattractive snort he let out, pressing his lips tightly together in Richie’s searching gaze. When he finally got his delighted expression under control, Eddie said, “I mean, he <em>is</em> a black man who wrote his undergraduate thesis about neo-colonialism in the Walt Disney Company. But yes,” a smile tugged at Eddie’s mouth, “I am fucking with you.”</p><p>Richie huffed out a quiet laugh, “Jesus. You’re an asshole, you know that?”</p><p>“I am well aware,” Eddie replied good naturedly.</p><p>Richie finished off his drink (Eddie did not watch the way Richie’s throat moved as he swallowed the drink. And even if he did, no one was paying attention to him) and then looked down at Eddie. “At least you’ve got that going for you. My shrink would kill for me to have that kind of self-awareness.”</p><p>“I’ll pass along the compliments to my therapist.”</p><p>Richie grinned, a goofy, crooked thing. From where Eddie was standing, he noticed that once of Richie’s eyes squinted more than the other when he smiled. It was distractingly endearing, Eddie carefully capped the pen in his hand and placed in on the auction table as not to grab Riche and kiss him.</p><p>“You wanna grab another drink?” Richie nodded to Eddie’s empty glass.</p><p>“Yes,” Eddie replied a little too sincerely. He cleared his throat and turned away from the auction tables. “Let’s go.”</p><p>With his stupidly long legs, Richie had no trouble keeping pace with Eddie’s quick gait through the venue and to the bar. They found a place to stand, side-by-side (Eddie could feel the warmth radiating off Richie’s body from where their elbows were pressed together on the bar top, even through layers of wool and cotton), as they waited for one of the bartenders to come and take their orders.</p><p>“Oh shit, is that dessert?”</p><p>Eddie turned his head, following Richie’s gaze to a buffet table across the room. It was, in fact, dessert. It was impossible to tell from where they were standing what was set out, but based on the hors d’oeuvres and his entree, Eddie knew they would be amazing.</p><p>“Yeah, I think it is. You wanna wait here and I’ll go get us some?”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>Richie’s sincerity was, honestly, adorable, but Eddie wasn’t going to let the other man know that Eddie thought he was adorable. Instead, he sighed heavily and backed away from the bar.  “I want another Manhattan.”</p><p>“You got it, Eds.”</p><p>“Not my name.”</p><p>Richie grinned, and Eddie had to fight himself from doing the same. With a huff, Eddie turned on one heel and stalked away, Richie’s laugh ringing behind him.</p><p>Once he got to the dessert tables, Eddie grabbed a plate and surveyed the offerings. There were trays of little rectangular slices of dark chocolate tortes and passionfruit shortcakes, piles of brightly colored macrons, and an impressive tower of profiteroles. Eddie got one of everything, carefully slicing each of the desserts in half and splitting them across two plates.</p><p>On stage, Adrian was introducing the next act (a band that Eddie had literally never heard of, but he was apparently in the minority if the cheers were any indication) as Eddie took the plates in hand and walked back to the bar.</p><p>Richie was in the same spot, Eddie’s new Manhattan on the bar-top next to him. Eddie felt his mouth curl up in a smile, taking the time it took to sidle up to Richie at the bar to school his face into something more composed.</p><p>“I hope you’re hungry, I got us a little bit of everything.”</p><p>Richie took the plate Eddie held out toward him greedily. “You are the man of my dreams, Eds,” he said, popping a brightly colored macaron into his mouth.</p><p>“Not my name,” Eddie said, praying to every deity he could name that he wasn’t blushing.</p><p>“Have you tried this shit?” Richie asked, mouth full. Eddie found this infuriating, not that Richie was talking with his mouth full, but that he wasn’t disgusting when he did so. “Eddie,” he swallowed, “you gotta try this shit.”</p><p>Eddie picked up the other half of the raspberry macaron on his plate and took a small, careful bite. It was really fucking delicious; the sweet cookie off-set by the tart filling. “It’s pretty good.”</p><p>“<em>Pretty</em> good?” Richie said, indignant. “<em>Pretty good</em>?”</p><p>“Yes, and?”</p><p>“You’re out of your goddamn mind, Eduardo.”</p><p>“Not my name—”</p><p>“This macaron,” Richie used the proper French pronunciation, endearing him to Eddie even further, “is one of the greatest desserts I have ever had.”</p><p>“I mean, it’s good, but not it’s not <em>life-changing</em>,” Eddie countered.</p><p>“It’s fucking orgasmic.”</p><p>Before Eddie could comment on that, a vaguely familiar man sidled up to the other side of Richie at the bar. “Jesus, Trashmouth,” he said, “you really do live up to the name.” He caught the attention of one of the bartenders and ordered two vodka sodas.</p><p>“Well, I don’t want anyone accusing me of false advertising,” Richie grinned at the other man.</p><p>With a roll of his green eyes, the interloper turned his attention to Eddie. “Is he bothering you? Because I can have him removed from the premises if so.”</p><p>Eddie glanced at Richie sidelong, catching the apprehensive expression on the comedian’s face. “I think I can handle the Trashmouth,” he said, smiling over the rim of his drink.</p><p>“Well, I commend you,” he said, sticking out a hand for Eddie to shake. “Adrian Mellon.”</p><p>That explained why he looked so familiar; Eddie was just unable to identify the emcee from up close. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you,” Adrian said, dropping his hand. “And thanks for coming out tonight. We really appreciate it.”</p><p>Eddie managed to refrain from looking at Richie again, playing it cool for once in his life. “No need to thank me, this evening has greatly exceeded my expectations.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it.” The bartender returned with his drinks. “I should get back to work, it was nice meeting you, Eddie. And I’ll catch you around, Trashmouth.”</p><p>“Auf wiedersehen,” Richie replied in a lilting German accent. Adrian rolled his eyes, took his drinks in hand, and turned away. “And give Don a kiss for me!” he called after the younger man’s retreating figure.</p><p>“You already made that joke,” Eddie said.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Did I?” Richie turned back to him; one eyebrow raised entreatingly.</p><p>(Eddie had the option to play it cool or double down on his lameness)</p><p>“Yeah, and it wasn’t funny the first time. Especially when you spent your whole set talking about how you were done with hooking up with twenty-year-old’s. It sends a mixed message.”</p><p>“I just like getting under the skin of guys like Adrian,” Richie shrugged good-naturedly. “Platinum Gays like that are all bark and no bite.”</p><p>“What the hell is a <em>Platinum Gay</em>?”</p><p>“A gay man who has never slept with a woman and was also born via c-section.” At Eddie’s still confused expression, he added, “you know, so they’ve never been inside a vagina.”</p><p>“Oh, Jesus Christ, Richie. That’s disgusting.”</p><p>Richie laughed brightly at Eddie’s chagrin, his wide grin revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth (adorable) and blue eyes crinkling around the edges. “I’m just trying to say that gays like that think that they’re so much better than the rest of us who didn’t spend the better part of 35 years in the closet. It’s my job to knock them down a few pegs. Keep them in check.”</p><p>Eddie took a sip of his drink before saying, “it’s a crock of bullshit, really. Like the idea that I’m less gay because I’ve had sex with women is total horseshit. Compulsory heterosexuality is a pervasive problem. I mean it’s baked into the very foundation of our society, dude. In some places, you can get fired, or even <em>evicted</em>, for not being straight. And several states don’t even recognize sexual orientation in their hate crime laws. It wasn’t until 2003 that same-sex sexual intercourse was decriminalized federally, and there are still some states that haven’t formally repealed those laws. And ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” was only repealed <em>ten years</em> ago. And god-forbid you’re not cis on top of all of that—”</p><p>“Okay, okay, slow down there, Eds.” Richie reached out to take Eddie’s hand (which was cutting through the air like a knife between them) and placed it gently on the bar top. “I get it. Of course I get it. Didn’t you hear me talking about not coming out until I was 35? Compulsory heterosexuality and internalized homophobia are fuckin’ plagues, dude.”</p><p>“Don’t call me <em>dude</em>,” Eddie grimaced.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure you called <em>me</em> ‘dude’ in your little tirade.”</p><p>Eddie was unable to confirm nor deny this claim, so he grabbed a pale green macron (it was pistachio, and it was delicious) off of his plate and sticking it in his mouth. He searched for something to say, the words dying in his throat at the sight of a familiar face down the bar.</p><p>“Fuck,” he choked and sputtered. A bit of the almond cookie went down the wrong pipe, Eddie reaching out for his Manhattan to try and wash it down. “We gotta get out of here.”</p><p>“Huh?” Richie was just polishing off a piece of cake, a smear of chocolate on his lips that Eddie could barely tear his gaze away from.</p><p>“C’mon,” Eddie grabbed Richie by the arm (his bicep was surprisingly muscled, but Eddie had to cast that from his mind) and dragged him away from the bar.</p><p>“Wait, I wasn’t done with my dessert! Or my drink.”</p><p>“I don’t give a shit.”</p><p>“You know, Eds, while I do find your assertiveness very attractive,” he caught Eddie’s eye. “Very attractive,” he repeated emphatically. “I would like to know where we’re going and what we’re running away from.”</p><p>“I recognized someone at the bar that I really don’t want to speak to tonight. Or ever again.”</p><p>“An old flame? A former beau? The first guy to break your heart?” Richie asked.</p><p>“It’s a woman.”</p><p>Richie paused, thinking. “I mean, you did say that you’ve had sex with women, so...”</p><p>“Ew, like I would ever sleep with <em>Greta Keene</em>,” Eddie shuddered.</p><p>“Oh shit, you know Greta?”</p><p>Eddie stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Richie. “How do you know her?”</p><p>“She works for PrideAid. She’s one of their lawyers or something.”</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?”</p><p>“How do you know Greta-sky?”</p><p>Eddie felt his expression darken, a wave of vicious jealousy at the nickname washing over him. “Don’t call her that.”</p><p>Richie laughed, Eddie turning away in embarrassment to stalk away. The comedian kept pace with him, much to Eddie’s dismay. “Sorry, Eds. But really, where do you know her from? And why do you hate her so much?”</p><p>“We went to college together, and she was a total bitch to me.”</p><p>“I mean, I don’t know her all that well, but that kind of seems like just who she is.” Richie studied Eddie’s drawn up expression. “Or maybe she’s grown up in the last 20 years.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t want to speak with her regardless.”</p><p>Richie laughed again, his shoulder knocking into Eddie’s. “Gotta love a man with integrity.”</p><p>Despite not having a destination in mind to hide out in, they found themselves in a quiet, empty hallway. “I think that it’s less about integrity and more about being an uncompromising asshole.” Eddie settled against the wall, Richie a warm, solid weight at his side.</p><p>“Hey, potato, to-mah-to,” he grinned at Eddie sidelong. At Eddie’s narrowed expression, Richie began laughing, blue eyes squinting up behind his thick-framed, eat-your-heart-out-Buddy-Holly glasses and Eddie had no choice but to kiss him. With a firm tug on the front of his god-awful shirt (why was Eddie so fucking attracted to this man?), Eddie pulled Richie down to his level and finally closed the distance between their mouths like he had been so desperate to do all night long.</p><p>Luckily for Eddie, Richie was entirely amenable to this turn of events, sliding one of his stupid big hands around Eddie’s body to rest at the small of his back while he deepened the kiss. Eddie traced the strong line of Richie’s jaw with his left hand, Richie’s 5’oclock shadow scratching against the pads of his fingers.</p><p>(Richie tasted like chocolate and whisky, and the smoky smell of his sandalwood cologne was dizzyingly good)</p><p>It was a good kiss. A fucking great kiss. One of those kisses at the end of a movie where the music swells and the two unnaturally attractive protagonists make out in the rain or something.</p><p>Eddie pulled back to catch his breath, the world filtering back in around them. Richie kept his eyes closed for a few moments, his lashes like dark soot against the tops of his round cheeks. Eddie had to physically restrain himself from sliding his mouth over Richie’s again.</p><p>(Or doing something even worse, like press his lips to the delicate, pale skin under his eyes)</p><p>“Wanna get out of here?” Eddie asked when Richie’s eyes slid open, his irises a thin line of blue around his pupils.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Richie replied, voice husky. With a blush, he cleared his throat. “Your place or mine?”</p><p>Eddie thought about his apartment in Tribeca with the broken heater and barren walls. It was too gray and monochrome for someone like Richie Tozier, a man who was bursting at the seams with color.</p><p>“Yours,” Eddie said at last.</p><p>Richie’s mouth twitched up into a crooked little grin. “Alright then. I need to get my shit form the green room and then I can call us an Uber?” His voice rose up at the end as if it were a question, trying to gauge Eddie’s expression.</p><p>(Not that Eddie blamed him, of course. He was making a conscious effort to keep the pleased little grin off of his face at the sappy expression on Richie’s. Eddie was sure that he must look, at best, pissed off, or at worst, constipated)</p><p>“I need to grab my coat from the coat check and then I’m good to go.” Eddie started walking back towards the ballroom, Richie falling in step after a moment.</p><p>“You don’t need to let Bev know you’re leaving?”</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, indignant. “I’m forty-fucking-years-old. I can just text her that I’m heading out. Not that she’ll miss me; she’s got lots of friends here tonight.”</p><p>“Yeah, I noticed that. She’s very...” Richie trailed off, “social, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Are you calling my best friend a slut?”</p><p>“What?” Richie’s bushy eyebrows rose up his wide forehead. “No, I just—”</p><p>Eddie broke, huffing out a snorting laugh. “I’m kidding. She was a little bit of a slut, back in the day, as most of us are when we’re exploring our sexuality.” Richie hummed in agreement. “She’s just an extrovert.”</p><p>“You don’t need to say it like that. Like it’s a dirty word.”</p><p>“You’re an extrovert, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I don’t appreciate your tone, Eduardo.”</p><p>“Not my name,” they had made it to the coat check, Eddie pulling his wallet from his pocket to find his claim ticket. “And you didn’t answer my question.” He turned his head slightly to look over at Richie as he handed the ticket to the guy working the coat check.</p><p>“You know,” Richie started, a corner of his mouth twisting to push his glasses back up his nose (it was an unconscious gesture, a tic. Eddie had noticed him doing it during his set too, and he imagined that it was a habit learned after many, many years of wearing glasses) “it’s more of a spectrum—”</p><p>“Jesus Christ you’re so full of shit. If you start going on about your Myers-Briggs type—”</p><p>“God, you’re such an ISTJ.”</p><p>Eddie felt his dark brows draw together and his eyes narrow. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.”</p><p>“I bet you’re a Virgo, too.”</p><p>(Eddie was, in fact a Virgo. How Richie Fucking Tozier knew that was beyond him; but it infuriated him to no end)</p><p>“I can’t fucking stand you.” Eddie turned just as the coat check guy came back, his black overcoat in hand. “Thank you,” he said to the employee before spinning back around to face Richie. “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Richie blinked at him in surprise, apparently incapable of speech. “What?” Eddie asked, perhaps a little too aggressively.</p><p>“You are just,” Richie huffed out a breathy laugh, “impossible to read, dude.” Eddie opened his mouth, ready to defend himself. “Don’t worry about it, Eds, I find it very hot.”</p><p>With a scowl, Eddie said, “you shouldn’t.”</p><p>Richie looked taken aback, “I shouldn’t?”</p><p>Eddie carefully folded his coat over one arm. “You should have better standards.”</p><p>“I should?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, you’re a moron.”</p><p>“See! This is what I’m talking about!” Richie tried to laugh it off, but he was obviously feeling anxious about it. “I can’t figure you out, dude.”</p><p>Eddie stepped closer to Richie, noting the way that Richie’s breath caught in his chest. His eyes flicked up to Richie’s, watching him through his dark lashes, knowing exactly what he was doing to the other man. “Richie,” he said, voice dipped low, his pupils dilatating until they were just a thin line of blue, “take me home so I can fuck you.”</p><p>Richie’s face flushed red, “uh, yeah. Yup,” he said, blinking. “Pip, pip, tally-ho!” Richie’s voice dipped into a strange British accent. “Let’s make haste, Sir Edward.” With that, Richie turned to head back towards the ballroom.  </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, keeping pace with Richie by sheer speed alone.</p><p>“Don’t call you <em>Eds</em>, don’t call you <em>Edward</em>,” Richie bemoaned, “what the hell am I supposed to call you then?”</p><p>“<em>Eddie</em>.”</p><p>“That won’t work for me, I’m big on nicknames.”</p><p>“Eddie is already a nickname, jackass!” Eddie’s outburst caught the attention of a random passerby, their face drawing up in confusion and perhaps derision. Eddie stepped closer to Richie, sliding one hand to press against the small (there was nothing small about Richie Tozier, at least, not that Eddie could see) of his back to keep them moving towards the green room. “God, you’re going to get me kicked out.”</p><p>“Good thing we’re leaving then, huh?”</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, but there was a small, private, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the thought. “Let’s just fucking get out of here.”</p><p>Richie led him through a door to the left of the stage at the front of the ballroom, ushering him into a well-lit hallway. He hesitantly turned right once inside, glancing over his shoulder to look at Eddie and say, “I think it’s this way, but I’m shit at directions.”</p><p>It was, in fact, the wrong way in the end, a poor hotel employee having to lead them back down the hallway to Richie’s dressing room. The taller man sheepishly thanked them and shouldered his way inside, Eddie snickering behind him.</p><p>“You’re such a moron.”</p><p>“And you’re such a dick,” Richie whined shutting the door behind them with a quiet <em>click</em>.</p><p>“I like that you’re a little stupid. And you like that I’m a little mean,” Eddie set his coat on the back of a chair, turning around to face Richie again. “Might as well lean into it,” he grinned, pushing Richie against the door and tugging him down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.</p><p>“If you get this hot for morons,” Richie said as Eddie pulled away so he could taste the sweat-salty skin of the other man’s neck. “Remind me <em>not</em> to introduce you to my friend, Bill.”</p><p>“Do you always,” Eddie paused to bite a particularly enticing tendon in Richie’s neck, smiling at the noise he made, “think about your friend Bill when hot guys are making out with you?”</p><p>“I mean, it usually only happens when the other guy is a bad kisser because I have to remind myself that it isn’t as bad as kissing Bill.”</p><p>Eddie pulled back (not getting very far due to the fact that Richie had one hand cupping his ass and the other tucked inside his suit jacket and splayed over his ribcage) to look at Richie. “Are you—” he shook his head, and started again, “did you—”</p><p>“Not that you’re a bad kisser!” Richie said, unkempt eyebrows (they were, unfortunately for Eddie, very fucking cute) jumping up towards his receding hairline (also cute) like he just realized what he said. “You are a very, very,” he emphasized, “good kisser, Eds. A fucking... kissing prodigy! I want to offer up my body upon the altar of—”</p><p>“Okay,” Eddie tugged on Richie’s shirt to bring his mouth a little closer, “you can stop now.”</p><p>“It was just the moron thing; Bill is very stupid.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Eddie pressed a kiss to the underside of Richie’s very strong jaw, inching along it until he reached the sharp corner where mandible met skull.</p><p>“And I’m mostly just, uh,” a strangled moan, “trying not to get too excited, if you catch my drift.” Richie laughed nervously, Eddie pulling back to look up at him. “I mean, you heard my set. It’s uh, been a while.”</p><p>Eddie wanted to step away again, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. “You, uh, also said that you were over casual hook ups,” he said carefully.</p><p>“Um,” Richie’s face colored, a bright flush crawling up his neck and over his cheeks. “I was hoping this wasn’t a one-time thing.” He pulled his hands away, as if he was giving Eddie the opportunity to bow out.</p><p>(He missed the heat of Richie’s hands immediately)</p><p>“Not that I was going to bring that up,” he said, chagrined. “But if that’s a problem for you—”</p><p>Rather than let Richie flounder on in perpetuity, Eddie tugged him forward by the front of his truly awful shirt for a quick, yet elucidating, kiss. When he pulled back, both shock and relief were evident on Richie’s face. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, either.” A smile tugged at the corner of comedian’s mouth; Eddie couldn't look away. “I’m also over the casual sex scene.”</p><p>“Cool, cool, cool, cool,” Richie nodded, looking distinctly like a bobblehead.</p><p>(He was still fucking adorable, much to Eddie’s annoyance)</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, but he pressed another kiss to Richie’s lips before stepping away. “Get your shit together and let’s get out of here.”</p><p>“Aye-aye, Captain Eds,” Richie gave him a piss-poor impersonation of a salute and pushed away from the door. Eddie rolled his eyes and settled in the armchair where he had laid his coat and watched Richie putter around the room.</p><p>He stripped off the sport coat and hung it up on a hanger that he produced from the inside of a dark gray garment bag. There was a wallet and a set of keys the vanity table that Richie shoved in his pockets, along with an iPhone charger that he produced from an outlet below the table. At last, Richie shrugged on a worn cognac-colored leather jacket and turned to face Eddie.</p><p>“Alright,” Richie said. “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p>Eddie got to his feet. “You gonna call the Uber?”</p><p>“Right.” Richie produced his phone from one of his pockets, and getting to work. “Done,” he said after a few moments. “Rosie, driving a silver 2010 Toyota Camry, will be here in 8 minutes.”</p><p>“Well, let’s not keep Rosie waiting.”</p><p>Richie led the way out of the dressing room and down the hall. “You sure you know where you’re going?” Eddie asked, not bothering to keep the mirth from his voice.</p><p>“You really are an asshole.”</p><p>“Never said I wasn’t.” They were headed down an unfamiliar hallway, but they seemed to be following the illuminated exit signs, so that was a good sign.</p><p>They finally made it to the back exit to the building, Richie pushing the door open for Eddie chivalrously. “See, I didn’t get us lost this time.”</p><p>“It’s a low bar,” Eddie said, passing through the door and out into the November night. “Jesus, it’s fucking cold.” He slipped into his coat, buttoning it up at the front to fight the chill. “How are you not freezing right now?”</p><p>“I’m basically a furnace,” he said (Eddie could confirm that this was true). “Also, I grew up in Chicago.”</p><p>“I grew up in Maine and I’m still fuckin’ cold.”</p><p>“Yeah, but your mom probably made you put on a coat every time you left the house when it was below 40 degrees.”</p><p>(It was a nothing comment, and yet it made Eddie’s blood run cold. Richie had no idea how right he was, he was just making a stupid joke that hit a little too close to home. Eddie couldn’t hold it against him. Didn’t want to hold it against him)</p><p>“More like below 70,” Eddie said, voice kept perfectly neutral. Despite this, Richie studied him carefully. Before the comedian could respond, Eddie said, “she was a little-overprotective.” He paused. “That’s actually kind of an understatement.” Eddie shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat in search of something to do. In doing so, he found a scarf in the right side.</p><p>Eddie pulled the scarf from his pocket, and after only a second’s thought, he reached up to wrap the scarf around the back of Richie’s neck, tying it loosely around itself. He couldn’t look up at the other man after the fact, turning to face the street in search of Rosie and her 2010 silver Toyota Camry.</p><p>“Thanks Eds,” Richie said, voice quiet enough that Eddie could barely hear him over the hustle and bustle of the city.</p><p>“Not my name,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But you’re welcome.”</p><p>It only took Rosie a few short minutes to arrive, rolling down her window as she pulled up to the curb in front of them. “Richie?” she asked.</p><p>“That’s me,” Richie opened the back door of the car and slid across the bench, making room for Eddie.</p><p>They settled in and buckled their seatbelts before Rosie pulled away from the curb. The radio was on, a comforting hum coming through the back speakers. Just as they were merging into traffic, a new song started, not that Eddie recognized it.</p><p>Richie, on the other hand...</p><p>“Oh, I love this song,” he said, voice dipped low just for Eddie to hear. The fact that Richie could identify the song after just a few opening notes, let alone before the words started, was impressive to Eddie, and was just another one of the captivating things about Richie that drew Eddie to him.</p><p>“Who is this?”</p><p>“Bonnie Raitt, Not the Only One,” Richie replied, glancing over at Eddie. In the dark of the car, only half of his face was illuminated by the streetlights outside. “One of my mom’s favorites.”</p><p>Eddie, incapable of speech, strained his ears to catch the words.</p><p>
  <em>I was in a daze, movin' in the wrong direction. Feelin' that I'd always be the lonely one. Then I saw your face on the edge of my horizon. Whisperin' that I wasn't the only one, the lonely one. </em>
</p><p>(He looked over at Richie again to find the other man already looking back)</p><p><em>One chance intervention. See what it can signify. The slightest misapprehension, baby. We'd have passed each other by</em>.</p><p>Richie’s hand was resting on the seat between them. Emboldened by the lyrics, Eddie reached out to twine their fingers together. Eddie felt a smile dawn on his face as Richie squeezed his hand once, twice. He glanced out the window as the city blurred past.</p><p>
  <em>When I heard your sweet voice callin'. Saw your light come shinin' through. I couldn't stop my heart from turning. Churnin' out my love for you...</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Not sure when the next chapter will go up. Probably in two weeks? In the meantime, you can find me on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/andtimestood/">here</a> and on Tumblr <a href="https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</p><p>Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. find a way to fill these lifeless sails</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hey, I spent the first few years of my career as a Dane Cook wannabe,” he said, defensive. “Some of my old fanboys still come to my shows to heckle me. Or verbally assault me, if you want to define <i>verbal</i> assault as shouting homophobic slurs at me at the Hudson Theatreworks in Weehawken.”</p><p>“Yikes,” Eddie said, for want of a better reaction, but coming up empty. He flicked his eyes up to meet Richie’s. They were still standing in the stairwell, the comedian just a few feet away, Eddie’s scarf around his neck and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched. “You think I can still catch a ride with Rosie back across the river?”</p><p>Richie’s face narrowed for a moment before he breathed out a chuckle. “Fuck off.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry it's been way more than two weeks... but do me a favor and let's all just pretend the goosebumps books came out a decade earlier than they did, okay? okay. i'll see you at the end!</p><p>(specific warnings for this chapter include: dane cook, mentions of new jersey, the fifth amendment, cat puns, classical music, PETA, goosebumps, fraternity decor, sonia kaspbrak, yale, plantar fasciitis, and jack black)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took close to 45 minutes to get to Richie’s apartment, Rosie electing to take the Queensboro Bridge across the East River to Brooklyn. Usually, when Eddie was leaving a bar with a hookup, they would go to whoever’s apartment was closest, sliding into the backseat of an Uber with want pulsing beneath his skin. And when the deed was done, Eddie would slip back into his oxford and pressed slacks and take a lonely, quiet, ride back home, or he would (not unkindly, but definitively <em>not</em> kindly) usher the other dude out of his apartment and into the night, never to be seen again.</p><p>This situation was different, for many different reasons. The main one being that this didn’t <em>feel</em> like one of those hookups. Sure, Eddie was ridiculously attracted to Richie, in much of the same way that Eddie was attracted to any six-foot-plus and slightly schlubby dude at some bar in Manhattan. But there was something about Richie that drew him to Eddie that Eddie couldn’t quite name. Something <em>different</em>.</p><p>(Like they had known each other forever, like childhood best friends who would bicker and pester each other like an old married couple. Their friends would just roll their eyes and say <em>that’s just</em> <em>Richie and Eddie</em>; always referred to as one entity, <em>RicheandEddie</em>. And Eddie would slowly, over minutes, days, years fall head over ass in love with Richie and when Eddie would finally muster up the courage to kiss him, he would find out that Richie had been in love with him just as long, in love with him even longer, and then they would live happily ever after)</p><p>In the few short hours Eddie had known him, it was obvious that Richie Tozier (the <em>real</em> Richie Tozier, not just the trashmouth comedian; but the man underneath it all) was desperately looking for human connection.  It wasn’t just the humor he used as a defense mechanism, a wall to hide behind. Or his truly terrible taste in clothes. Or even his I-tried-too-hard-to-look-like-I-didn’t-try-at-all hair. It was like everything about him was just screaming <em>look at me, look at me, look at me</em>.</p><p>(Or maybe, Eddie was just the only one paying enough attention to hear it)</p><p>And it wasn’t like Eddie wasn’t also desperate for human connection. He knew exactly what it was like to be so in the closet that you didn’t even realize you were gay until you were 29 years old and met a gay man for the first time (<em>Eddie, this is my friend, Mike</em>, Bev had said at a party in Midtown, <em>and this is Mike’s boyfriend, Pierre</em>) and being so uncomfortable around Pierre (or Niko or <em>Zayn</em>) until you finally realize that perhaps your problem isn’t that Mike dates <em>men</em>, but that Mike isn’t dating <em>you</em>.</p><p>(Things had not worked out with Mike, obviously. They really weren’t well-suited for each other in any way. After a long conversation about how <em>sexuality is a spectrum</em> and the concept of <em>internalized homophobia</em> and a single, lackluster kiss, they decided to just be friends)</p><p>After 30 odd years of sleepwalking through life, Eddie woke up. And when he woke up, he was <em>starving</em>. Fucking <em>rabid</em>. And, sure, the last ten years of hookups and casual dating had sustained him well enough. But he was 40 now, and Eddie was fucking tired.</p><p>So, Eddie got into Rosie’s 2010 silver Toyota Camry and rode all the way to Brooklyn with the warmth of Richie at his side without complaint.</p><p>(And, hey, it would give him a good excuse to spend the night if things go well)</p><p>(And Eddie was desperately hoping that things would go well)</p><p>They pulled up to a nondescript brick building at last, just a few minutes shy of 9:00. “Thank you,” Richie said, handing Rosie a few bills for a tip. “Have a good night.”</p><p>“You too,” she said, taking the money surreptitiously. “Also, not to be that person, but I loved your last special on Netflix. My girlfriend and I watch it like, once a month.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he replied, looking distinctly pink, even in the low light.</p><p>“Have a good night,” Eddie said, putting the poor comedian out of his misery, and ushering him out of the car. They stood on the sidewalk outside of Richie’s building as Rosie drove away, a comfortable silence hanging between them. “You’re not very good at accepting compliments, are you?”</p><p>Richie turned to him, “absolutely not.” He paused thoughtfully. “Especially when it’s a genuine fan.”</p><p>“As opposed to what?”</p><p>The other man had turned again, making for the door of his building. He opened the door and led Eddie inside before saying, “homophobes.”</p><p>“Wow, that’s a low bar.”</p><p>“Hey, I spent the first few years of my career as a Dane Cook wannabe,” he said, defensive. “Some of my old fanboys still come to my shows to heckle me. Or verbally assault me, if you want to define <em>verbal assault</em> as shouting homophobic slurs at me at the Hudson Theatreworks in Weehawken.”</p><p>“Yikes,” Eddie said, for want of a better reaction, but coming up empty. He flicked his eyes up to meet Richie’s. They were still standing in the stairwell, the comedian just a few feet away, Eddie’s scarf around his neck and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched. “You think I can still catch a ride with Rosie back across the river?”</p><p>Richie’s face narrowed for a moment before he breathed out a chuckle. “Fuck off.”</p><p>Eddie kept his expression neutral. “I mean it. I can’t sleep with someone who once idolized <em>Dane Cook</em>.”</p><p>“I can tell when you’re fucking with me now, you know. I’ve figured you out, Kaspbrak.” Eddie finally let the veneer drop, a smile pulling at his mouth. Richie rolled his eyes, but if his upturned lips were any indication, he was quite amused. “Okay, let’s go.”</p><p>Much to Eddie’s surprise, Richie turned on one heel and away from the staircase. As it turned out, there was an elevator around the corner and down a short hallway. Richie pressed the button, and stepped back to stand shoulder to shoulder (or, more accurately, shoulder to bicep) with Eddie.</p><p>“I’ve got you figured out too, Tozier,” he said, watching the lighted panel above the elevator as the needle steadily moved left as the elevator made its descent to the ground floor. Without looking, Eddie reached out for Richie’s hand, the backs of their fingers brushing.  </p><p>The elevator doors opened after a few moments, Eddie following Richie inside. He hit the button for the top floor, the doors sliding closed. “Penthouse, huh?” Eddie asked.</p><p>Richie laughed quietly. “What? Do I not seem like the type?”</p><p>“Hm, that sounds like entrapment,” Eddie grinned at Richie sidelong, “so I’m not going to answer that question.”</p><p>“Fuckin’ fifth amendment,” Richie grumbled. The elevator dinged and stopped on the top floor. After the doors slid open, Richie slipped past him, their hands brushing again. “This way, Eds.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that. Also, the American justice system is a scam.”</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me.” There was only one apartment on the floor, Richie stopping front of it and said, “home sweet home.” He slid the key into the deadbolt first and then into the knob. He pushed the door open and gestured Eddie inside.</p><p>“Thanks.” It was dark for a moment, Richie flipping on a light just as the door was closing soundly behind him. Eddie shrugged out of his coat, watching Richie try to do the same with his leather jacket without putting down his garment bag.</p><p>“Here,” Richie said, once he was successful with his jacket. He was holding his hand out for Eddie’s coat. “Let me hang that up for you.”</p><p>Eddie had to hide a smile, at the risk of looking like an absolute fucking sap. “Thank you.” He handed over the coat and watched Richie take the armful of clothing and hang them up in a closet to his left.</p><p>“You can leave your shoes here,” Richie said, pointing at the empty space near the shoe rack next to the door as he toed off his sneakers. Eddie carefully slipped out of his loafers, pushing them with his socked feet against the wall. He looked up to catch Richie smiling at him softly.</p><p>“Okay, this way,” Richie slipped past him and down the hallway, his hand brushing against Eddie’s lower back as he ushered him further inside.</p><p>Based on the everything about him, Eddie expected Richie’s apartment to be a mess. And to be fair, it wasn’t tidy, per se; but it wasn’t <em>gross</em>; thank god. More than anything, it was a little cluttered and visually crowded. There were framed movie posters hung up on the exposed brick walls between bookshelves that were stuffed full to the tits with the colorful spines of various paperback books and tchotchkes. The couch (a forest-green velvet sectional) was piled high with mis-matched throw pillows and was angled to face the giant flat screen TV that was mounted on the wall. Below the TV there seemed to be an impressive looking stereo and turntable set-up with a low, horizontal shelf of records below.</p><p>Beyond the living room, there was the kitchen and a set of floating stairs leading up to what seemed like a loft space, though it was too dark to really make out what was up there. Straight ahead, there was a veritable greenhouse worth of potted and hanging plants in front of a wide picture window.</p><p>“Wow,” Eddie said, awe clearly evident in his voice. Now, more than ever, Eddie was glad that they hadn’t gone back to his place. He couldn’t imagine the shame he would feel if their roles were reversed, if it was Richie standing in Eddie’s freezing cold living room between his gray couch and the gray rug, surrounded on all sides by gray walls.</p><p>“Make yourself comfortable, Eds,” Richie said, tossing his keys into a bowl on a low table next to the couch. “I gotta feed the cat and do the dishes. Feel free to poke around.”</p><p>“Cat?” Eddie asked.</p><p>Richie laughed, a quiet amused thing. “Yeah, that’s her there,” he pointed to a framed photo on one of the bookshelves. It was a picture of a gray and white cat with big, blue eyes. Looking closer, Eddie could see the top of Richie’s curly head peeking out behind her pointed ears.</p><p>The photo was insufferable in its adorableness and Eddie had to look away. “What’s her name?” he asked, as Richie made his way to the kitchen.</p><p>“Wolfgang Amadeus Meow-zart,” Richie replied, grinning goofily from across the room. He leaned down for a moment before adding, “Amy for short.” Richie popped open a can of cat food and began scooping it into a little silver dish. “She’s wary of strangers, so you probably won’t see her, but she’s deaf so you’ll <em>definitely</em> hear her.” There was an almost comically timed clatter from the loft, Richie making a <em>you can’t make this shit up</em> expression.</p><p>However, Eddie was too distracted by another thought to comment on that. “You do know that Mozart wasn’t deaf, right? You’re thinking of Beethoven.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I couldn’t figure out a cat pun for Beethoven.”</p><p>“And a pun was necessary in naming your cat?” Eddie asked, suspicious.</p><p>“Of course!” Richie leaned down again to place the food bowl on the floor. “What’s the point of getting a cat if you can’t work a pun into their name?”</p><p>Eddie turned away to hide his smile. He started scanning the bookshelves, tilting his head sideways to read the titles on the spines. This was a mistake, seeing as it gave Eddie more things to be endeared by. For example, Richie had, what seemed to be, every single installment of the original Goosebumps series, the spines cracked, and pages yellowed. Eddie pulled one out enough (titled, bafflingly, <em>Egg Monsters from Mars</em>) to see that Richie had written his name on the front cover in sharpie. He wrestled the fond little grin off of his face as he pushed the book back in.</p><p>“How does one acquire a deaf cat, anyways?” Eddie glanced over his shoulder to see Richie soaping up a sponge.</p><p>The other man turned on the water long enough to moisten the sponge before taking a plate in hand. “Well, my therapist suggested I get a plant. You know, to give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. And that obviously got out of hand very quickly,” he laughed. “So, we tossed around the idea of me getting fish, or a turtle—” Eddie couldn’t help but snort at that. “Don’t laugh! Turtles are very apartment-friendly pets.”</p><p>Eddie snickered again, turning away from the bookshelf to look at Richie from across the room. “I just can’t imagine still wanting to fuck you after finding out you had a turtle as a pet.”</p><p>(This was a lie, of course. It would take much more than a silly reptile to keep Eddie from wanting to fuck Richie)</p><p>Richie turned bright red (just as Eddie had hoped) but his expression remained indignant. “I will not tolerate this anti-turtle propaganda in my good Christian home.” Eddie levelled him with a look, one eyebrow raised in challenge. A smile was threatening the corner of his Richie’s very kissable mouth, mirth playing at his blue eyes. “Fine, I’m Jewish, but the sentiment still stands.”</p><p>Eddie moved on from the bookshelves and wandered over to the window. “You didn’t answer my question.”</p><p>“Right, uh,” Richie paused, trying to remember where he left off. “I wanted to get a cat, and Laurie approved, so I went down to this animal shelter near here and the girl helping me mentioned that they had a litter of deaf kittens. And I immediately started working on a bit about my voice being so irritating that I had to get a deaf cat unless I wanted the PETA people to accuse me of animal abuse,” Eddie (unfortunately) laughed at that, but he didn’t turn back to Richie to give him the pleasure of Eddie thinking that he was funny. “But then,” he continued, smile evident in his voice, “she put this teeny-tiny little kitten in my hands, and I was fuckin’ smitten.”</p><p>Eddie looked over his shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of the soft expression on Richie’s face. He was looking down, rinsing a plate and then placing it on rack next to the sink. He shut the water off and then looked up at Eddie. “I took her home that night, zero regrets.”</p><p>Richie’s soft expression was so soft and warm that Eddie had to look away. Luckily Richie’s houseplants provided more than enough visual interest to distract Eddie. There were a variety of different sized pots, some of them hanging from a bar installed in the wall above the window, others lined the windowsill or were set upon a low table.</p><p>Eddie had the inexplicable desire to reach out and touch one of the cacti sitting along the windowsill. In his defense, it was a little round and prickly motherfucker that was so cute that Eddie couldn’t even be mad if it hurt him. Instead, Eddie reached out for one of the less dangerous plants, rubbing his fingers along the waxy, variegated leaves that were dangling over the side of its pot.</p><p>“Can I interest you in another Manhattan?” Richie asked, Eddie glancing over at him to see the comedian turning off the water and wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.</p><p>“Actually, can I just get a water?”</p><p>“Sure thing, Spaghetti,” Richie ignored Eddie’s noise of disgust, “don’t want that whiskey dick.”</p><p>Eddie felt his face flush, but ignored it in favor of saying, “dude, we’re both 40 years old. You should drink water when you have alcohol if you don’t want to be hungover for three days afterwards.”</p><p>“I don’t get hungover,” Richie said, his voice slightly muffled as he was digging through his cupboard for a glass. He closed the cabinet and looked over at Eddie. “You want ice?”</p><p>Eddie did not answer his question, staring over at Richie, mouth agape.</p><p>“Is that a yes?”</p><p>“You don’t get hungover?”</p><p>“No, not really?”</p><p>“You’re such a dick.”</p><p>Richie laughed, exasperated. “You’re such a charmer, Eds.”</p><p>“That’s not my name.”</p><p>The other man picked up the glasses off of the counter and moved towards the fridge. “Do you want ice in your water?”</p><p>“No,” Eddie replied indignantly, turning back to angrily poke at Richie’s plants again.</p><p>“Gotcha,” Richie said, all too pleased with himself. After about a minute, he padded over to where Eddie was standing. “Here you go, Spaghetti.”</p><p>“Not my fucking name,” Eddie gritted out. Nevertheless, he took one of the glasses from Richie and took a long sip. “Thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Eddie studied Richie sidelong, the lights of the city outside of his window reflected back on to his face. He took another sip of water before saying, “I like your apartment.”</p><p>That startled a laugh out of Richie. “Thanks, man.” His expression turned wary after a moment, and said, “you find anything embarrassing?”</p><p>Eddie laughed, his shoulder brushing against Richie’s bicep. “Just <em>Egg Monsters from Mars</em>.”</p><p>“Hey! That book’s a classic.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t allowed to read <em>Goosebumps</em> as a kid.”</p><p>“Religious parents?” Richie asked.</p><p>Eddie reached out to bush his fingers against the velvety soft leaves of one of the plants in front of him. “Sort of.” He glanced up at Richie out of the corner of his eye, the other man looking down at him carefully. “It’s just nice to be in an apartment that doesn’t actively make me more depressed.”</p><p>Richie chuckled, “that was the goal.” He took as long pull from his own glass before adding, “back when I lived in LA, and I guess also before that when I was living in Chicago, I was a fucking <em>connoisseur</em> of the bachelor-pad-slash-aging-frat-boy aesthetic. I had a couch that my college roommate found on the side of the road on bulk pick up day that I drove across the country when I moved. And once I was in LA, I couldn’t afford a box spring, let alone a bed frame, so I just put my mattress on the floor and slept like that for several years. <em>Long</em> after I <em>could</em> afford them. There was also this truly horrible tiger print rug, straight out of a 70s porn set, that I bought at a Goodwill, you know, for laughs,” Eddie, pointedly, did not laugh, “and it gave me this <em>terrible</em> rash. When I moved to New York, I just paid the movers to take everything I left behind to the fucking dump.”</p><p>There were a lot of things that Eddie wanted to address. One, what kind of person would see a couch on the side of the road and then bring it into their home? Two, what was the chance that Richie contracted an STI from his porn rug? And did he ever see a doctor about it? And three—</p><p>“Were you actually in a frat?”</p><p>Richie was taking another sip of his water, but he swallowed quickly before answering. “What? Oh, <em>god</em> no. I was <em>way</em> too in the closet and not fooling <em>anyone</em> to even entertain the idea. Also, I only did three semesters at UChicago before dropping out.”</p><p>(Eddie felt a hot flash of jealousy at Richie’s cavalier comment that he quickly pushed aside. It wasn’t <em>Richie’s</em> fault that Eddie had some hang ups about higher education)</p><p>There was this Friday, back in the fall of Eddie’s senior year of high school, when the air was still crisp, but not cold quite yet, where his mother was gone for an entire afternoon and into the early evening. He couldn’t quite remember why she had been gone now, it probably for some event at their church, or perhaps a one-off invitation to one of the many housewife book clubs. Regardless of where she was or what she had been doing, Eddie had been buzzing with energy all day, excited to get home to a perfectly quiet house and run upstairs to his room and pull out a shoebox he had hidden under his bed.</p><p>(And no, the box wasn’t full of <em>porn</em>. He was so repressed, even at 17, that he had basically no sexual drive to speak of)</p><p>In the box were full-color brochures and leaflets printed on glossy paper from colleges from all over the country. Ivy covered walls and carefully posed photographs of diverse students lounging on the quad or laughing in the commons. Eddie remembered the Yale brochure vividly, the bright blue of the coat of arms with the motto printed underneath: <em>Lux et Veritas</em>. <em>Light and Truth</em>. He remembered tracing the little <em>Est. 1701</em> under the logo, wishing, <em>desperately</em>, that he could be a part of something that was bigger than himself. To be in a brotherhood of scholars.</p><p>Instead, the next fall, he moved into his depressingly small single in Woodward Hall at the University of Southern Maine and it was <em>fine</em>. Really, it was fine. He was just far enough away from Derry that he was required to live on campus his first year, but still close enough that his mother could drive down on a whim on a Thursday, even though he had class at 8 AM the next morning, and drag him back to Derry for a long weekend in which she would try and guilt him into dropping out and moving back home to take care of her.</p><p>That was to say, that the University of Southern Maine became his safe haven when his mother’s health was actually deteriorating enough that she couldn’t make the hour-long drive, even just one-way. Not that she didn’t try to find other ways to guilt him in to coming back. There was a communal telephone in the hallway of his building Sophomore year that was often ringing off the hook thanks to Sonia Kaspbrak. Most of his floormates ignored the phone, choosing, instead, to frequent the one on the second floor when they needed to make a call of their own.</p><p>(In thanks, Eddie brought back all of the semi-stale pastries they couldn’t sell at the on-campus coffee shop where he worked. It bought him enough goodwill, if his embarrassment wasn’t enough to make everyone sympathetic to his plight)</p><p>Eddie had reveled in the semi-independence USM had offered him so much that there was no question that he would apply for their MS in Statistics program. Two more years away from his mother and that awful house full of ghosts? And not just the ghost of his father, but of the happy family they once were; the ghost of the kid Eddie could have been—</p><p>“I did, technically live on campus for another semester because a friend of mine was studying abroad and he didn’t cancel his housing in time.” Richie said, cutting off Eddie’s descent into the deep recesses of his own memories. “And then I played Malvolio in a student-directed production of the <em>Twelfth Night</em>. But that was only because the guy who was supposed to play him got mono the week before opening night.”</p><p>“Don’t all theater kids just perpetually have mono?” Eddie asked.</p><p>Richie snorted into his water, lowering his arm to set the glass on the windowsill in front of them. “Yowza, Eds gets off a good one!”</p><p>Eddie studied Richie for a moment, the easy tilt of his indulgent grin, the long slope of his nose, the uneven scrunch of his eyes when he smiled behind his glasses. He didn’t quite want to share all of the skeletons in his closet, but he wanted to offer Richie <em>something</em>.</p><p>“I grew up in Maine. Went to school there too, so I didn’t move to New York until after my mom died.” Eddie could feel Richie tense up next to him, but the comedian didn’t say anything. “I lived with Bev for a little while. Like, we shared a double bed, and everything. And let me tell you, that girl is a fucking blanket hog,” Richie snickered quietly, and Eddie continued, “and then when I got my first paycheck, I paid the first and last month’s rent on a fully furnished place in Tribeca that was technically close enough to walk to my office because I was deathly scared of taking the subway, and I haven’t moved since.” Eddie, rather than look at Richie, brushed the tips of his fingers on his left hand across the spiny needles of the round cactus he had been eyeing earlier. No blood. “That was almost 15 years ago.”</p><p>“Jesus. And you haven’t redecorated at all?” Richie asked, after a few seconds of silence between them.<br/><br/></p><p>“Oh, fuck no. As soon as I had the disposable income, I replaced all that shit. I’m pretty sure the apartment belonged to some elderly woman who moved there in the 60s, and thanks to rent control, just never left, lived there before me, and the owner just couldn’t be fucked to clear the place out when she died.” Eddie finished off his water, the shock of cold clearing his head a little. “I don’t think she died in the apartment, because legally they would <em>have</em> to tell me if she did, even if it was from natural causes. But if that couch could talk?” Eddie shivered involuntarily just thinking about it. “Someone definitely keeled over on that thing.”</p><p>“There was like a 30% chance someone was murdered on that couch Bill found.”</p><p>“He found it in Chicago?” Eddie asked, Richie nodding in assent. “It’s more like a 65% chance then.”</p><p>Richie laughed again, an open, bright-sounding thing. “Dude, you can’t be funnier than me. I’ll never be able to get it up if I’m not the funniest guy in the room.”</p><p>“How do you ever get it up then?”</p><p>Eddie said this while Richie was taking an ill-timed sip of water, his comment making the comedian cough and sputter; a literal spit-take. “Jesus,” Richie said, voice raspy.</p><p>“You okay, dude?”</p><p>Richie put the glass back down, looking over at Eddie with a half-amused, half-annoyed (but 100% fond) expression. “You can’t be funny, hot, <em>and</em> smart. You gotta pick one to get rid of.”</p><p>“I don’t have to do jack shit.”</p><p>Richie laughed again, wheezing a bit due to the fucking water in his lungs, no doubt. “Christ, Eds—”</p><p>“Not my fucking name, shitstain.”</p><p>“—how did I get so fuckin’ lucky to find you?”</p><p>That shocked Eddie into silence. Not just Richie’s words, which could easily be played off as a joke, but it was the emotion behind them that caught Eddie off guard; the absolute sincerity just pouring right out of him.</p><p>Richie didn’t say anything else, a small, thoughtful smile curving at his mouth as he tipped the remaining water in his glass, about a quarter of it, into the pot of the round cactus Eddie had caressed earlier. This (among many, many other things about Richie Tozier) was just too fucking endearing to handle. Eddie felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest at the action. His eyes traveled up from Richie’s strong and callused hand, to the hairy curve of his forearm, up his strong bicep, over the pale column of his throat, across the edge of his stubbled jaw, past the spit-slick curve of his pink mouth, and to his bright eyes.</p><p>After a moment, Richie finally looked back.</p><p>“Kiss me.”</p><p>Richie put the glass down on the windowsill with a <em>thunk</em>. “Well, you don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, leaning down just as Eddie was rising up on the balls of his feet to press their open mouths together.</p><p>Eddie wrapped both of his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling the him down to Eddie’s height. This arrangement only lasted a few moments, Richie pulling away from Eddie’s mouth with a wet (and only kind of embarrassing) sound. His pupils were like black saucers with only a thin line of icy blue around them. Eddie’s hands flexed and relaxed unconsciously on the back of Richie’s neck as the comedian straightened out to his full height. “What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>“I can’t lean down like that for very long if I want to have any hope of being able to sit up tomorrow.”</p><p>“You’re not going to be able to sit up tomorrow after I’m done with you,” Eddie replied, his Horny Brain starting to take over his often-malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter. “Uh—”</p><p>Richie barked out a laugh, the sound seeming to surprise even him. “Jesus Christ, Eds.”</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, not willing to waste his breath admonishing the nickname yet again. He rose back up onto the balls of his feet to kiss Richie again, which proved to be an effective distraction technique. Though, this too was an imperfect arrangement, the arches of Eddie’s feet cramping up after about a few minutes of fervent, impassioned kissing.</p><p>A few years ago, Eddie had woken up one morning with an intense pain in the heels of both of his feet that made the first few steps of the day almost excruciating. The inexplicable pain had almost driven him into a panic attack (he had anxiously typed <em>symptoms of foot cancer?</em> into Google and had to clear his web history in embarrassment when the whole thing was over), and it had taken half a Xanax, several rounds of breathing exercises, and a Mayo Clinic article about plantar fasciitis to calm him down. Since then, he had incorporated foot stretches into his morning routine to strengthen the muscles of his feet and calves to mitigate some of the pain. Most mornings, Eddie would wake up pain-free, but after long days in the unsupportive dress shoes he favored, his plantar fasciitis was bound to flare up.</p><p>(Needless to say, Eddie was pissed that his fucking plantar facia were trying to cock-block him)</p><p>Richie’s hands were at Eddie’s waist, big, strong hands gripping him tightly. Eddie took the opportunity to shift some of his weight onto Richie, wrapping his arms tighter around the comedian’s neck. He could feel where Richie was starting to get hard in his jeans, which only made Eddie want to climb him even more, trying to muscle his way into Richie’s embrace.</p><p>With an inelegant noise at the back of his throat, Richie pulled away. Not far, but just enough to say, “dude, I cannot pick you up. I will throw my back out.”</p><p>“I think the kids call it ‘blowing your back out,’” Eddie replied, eyes trained on the Richie’s swollen lips.</p><p>The other man snickered and leaned down, brushing his nose against Eddie’s. While it was a sweet gesture, Richie’s glasses sort of ruined it, the plastic-y brow of them pressing against Eddie’s forehead. “My point still stands.”</p><p>“Fine,” Eddie said, indignant. He loosened his arms and lowered himself to his natural height. “Take me to your bedroom.”</p><p>Rather than lead the way, Richie leaned down to kiss Eddie briefly. Looking up at Richie, Eddie felt his face twist up in confusion, brows knitting together. “Gotta take one for the road,” he replied, smiling goofily. “Let’s go, Spagheds.”</p><p>“What the fuck,” Eddie deadpanned. Richie chuckled good-naturedly and took him by the hand. Despite Richie’s fucking awful nicknames, Eddie found himself following Richie to his room.</p><p>(It was probably because he was incredibly horny, but that would surely be handled soon enough)</p><p>They stumbled into Richie’s bedroom (Eddie, possessed by some kind of sex demon, presed the taller man up against the wall just to the left of the door which slowed them down considerably). Richie’s bedroom was not unlike the rest of his apartment, a little cluttered, Eddie’s gaze drawn in a million different directions, from framed photos to trinkets to an armchair in the corner piled high with (hopefully) clean laundry.</p><p>“So, this is where the magic happens,” Richie said, still holding Eddie’s hand. He seemed nervous, or perhaps embarrassed by the state of his room.</p><p>Eddie couldn’t have that. Sure, the fact that Richie didn’t take himself too seriously was a major part of his appeal (the other was the wide expanse of his shoulders), but insecurity <em>wasn’t</em> sexy.</p><p>(And Richie had <em>nothing</em> to be insecure about)</p><p>With a hand cupped around the strong curve of his jaw, Eddie angled Richie’s face down for an open mouthed (and frankly, dirty) kiss. Eddie pulled back, a little thrill going through him at the blissed-out expression on Richie’s face. He pushed at Richie’s shoulder until the comedian collapsed on to his bed.</p><p>“What the fuck,” he intoned. Eddie just smirked down at him and carefully (read: slowly) stripped off his suit jacket. Richie watched, enraptured, as Eddie folded the jacket in half lengthwise and draped it over the back of the armchair. “What the <em>fuck</em>,” he said again, toppling backwards, starfished out on top of his comforter, laying on the bed crosswise.</p><p>Eddie couldn’t help his amused little chuckle as he meandered back over to Richie. Using his knee to knock the other man’s legs farther apart, Eddie settled himself between Richie’s spread thighs. “You okay down there, dude?”</p><p>“Nope,” Richie replied, his eyes closed. “Pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven.”</p><p>Richie’s closed eyes seemed to be a blessing in disguise, keeping him from seeing the flush burning Eddie’s cheeks from his compliment. “Do you need me to pinch you?” he asked, not waiting for Richie’s assent to pinch the little strip of pale skin at Richie’s waist from where his shirt had ridden up.</p><p>Richie’s eyes flew open. “Ow! You motherfucker.” He sighed heavily and sat up. “I guess you’ve convinced me.”</p><p>“That you’re not dead?” Richie nodded. “Good, because that would make things really weird for me.”</p><p>Richie laughed, tugging Eddie closer by one of the belt loops of his slacks. “I’m learning so much about you tonight. Eddie Kaspbrak, 40-year-old literal gay man who has never read <em>Goosebumps</em> and is <em>not</em> into necrophilia.”</p><p>“I usually wait until the third date to tell guys that I’ve never read <em>Goosebumps</em>.”</p><p>The comedian smiled up at Eddie, “from what I’ve gathered RE: your dating history,” Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the dumb joke didn’t keep him from leaning over Richie to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across his jawline and down his neck. “I assume that all the past guys you’ve dated think <em>Goosebumps</em> is just a movie starring Jack Black.”</p><p>Eddie pulled away to look at Richie’s face, puzzled. “They made a <em>Goosebumps </em>movie? Starring <em>Jack Black</em>?”</p><p>“There are two Goosebumps movies, actually. The first one totally slaps and the second one is pretty shit. No egg monsters, though. Also, Jack Black is only in the first movie.” Eddie didn’t have a response to any of that, and his expression must have communicated this, so Richie continued on, “I auditioned for Jack’s part. I didn’t get it. Obviously.”</p><p>(Despite the fact that Richie was talking about his failed audition for a children’s horror movie, Eddie’s erection hadn’t flagged, though the once overwhelming thrum of his arousal had settled to a low hum under his skin)</p><p>“Obviously,” Eddie laughed, tipping his forehead to rest against Richie’s (soft) chest.</p><p>Richie laughed underneath him, arms wrapping around Eddie’s middle. “Jack’s a pretty good guy, he sent me a gift basket when he got the job and everything. I mean, it included a video message of him telling me to, and I’m not joking, <em>suck it</em>. So,” he shrugged, “you know. It’s all about perspective.”</p><p>Eddie sat up again. “What, are you guys, like, <em>friends</em>?”</p><p>Richie smiled, abashed. “I wish. Mostly I just sort of look up to him?” This shocked Eddie into silence. “Is this where you tell me that you won’t fuck someone who idolizes Jack Black?”</p><p>“No,” Eddie replied, a little too soft. “No, I’m just trying to fit this new piece of information into everything else I know about you.”</p><p>“Oh? And what’s the verdict Dr. K?”</p><p>Eddie hummed, thinking. “Richie Tozier, 40-year-old former Dane Cook wannabe—”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Lover of cats and turtles, and secret admirer of Jack Black.”</p><p>“That makes me sound like I have a crush on Jack Black.” Eddie regarded Richie carefully, one eyebrow cocked in challenge. “I don’t.”</p><p>“Sure,” Eddie said, teasing. “That seems totally believable.”</p><p>“It’s true!”</p><p>Eddie tsked dubiously, barely fighting back a smile. Richie groaned; frustrated, embarrassed. “I’m just teasing,” Eddie said, taking pity on the poor comedian. He pressed a kiss to the downturned corner of Richie’s mouth. His pout only grew, Eddie leaning over to kiss the other side of his mouth.</p><p>“You can’t just distract me with kisses,” Richie replied, indignant, though Eddie could see through the cracks in his facade.</p><p>“Hmm,” Eddie trailed kisses along Richie’s cheek, under his jaw, and down his neck. Once he got to the open collar of his shirt, Eddie started to make quick work of the buttons revealing more and more warm skin to lave open-mouthed kisses across. “Are there other things that <em>could</em> distract you?”</p><p>“Uh,” Richie trailed off as Eddie finally got the last button free and pushed the shirt open, making his way down the soft planes of the comedian’s chest and through the thick patch of chest hair. “Yup.”</p><p>“Good to know,” Eddie flicked his tongue out for a quick taste of Richie’s skin (salt and musk), before sliding off of his body and to his feet.</p><p>“What the fuck,” Richie moaned. “You are fuckin’ killing me, Eds.”</p><p>“Not my name,” Eddie couldn’t quite hide the smile in his voice. “Anyway, we need to get naked, so get to work, buddy.”</p><p>“<em>Not my name</em>,” Richie mocked, though he did comply with Eddie’s request, slipping the ugly cat shirt off and tossing it into a corner behind him before moving on to his jeans.</p><p>Eddie took his time carefully undressing, laying each piece of his suit across the back of the armchair. He left his undershirt and his socks in a pile on the floor, much more bothered by the idea of setting his sweaty underthings on top of his dry-clean-only designer suit than wrinkling them.  </p><p>Richie was completely naked by the time Eddie turned back around and made his way back to the bed, Eddie taking the opportunity to study his naked form in the half-light. The thick dusting of hair down his chest and legs, the unselfconscious lust in his gaze, the hard curve of his dick that practically made Eddie’s mouth water.</p><p>He closed the distance between them, Richie leaning back until he was laying on the bed once again, Eddie crawling over him, arms propped up on the mattress on either side of the comedian.</p><p>“What’s with these?” Richie asked, his voice dipped low like he didn’t want to be overheard. He snapped the elastic at the waist of Eddie’s underwear. “I thought—”</p><p>Before Richie could finish, Eddie had taken the other man by the wrist, and pressed it firmly into the bed. Richie’s eyes grew wide, pupils visibly dilating. The latent hum of arousal ramped up again, all at once, to a heady, all-consuming need to <em>touch</em>, <em>kiss</em>, <em>taste</em>.</p><p>He leaned down for an open-mouthed kiss; Richie lax with desire. Eddie pulled away just enough to say, “okay. Condoms? Lube?”</p><p>With his restrained hand, Richie pointed to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. “Top drawer,” he said, voice thick with lust.</p><p>Eddie leaned down for another kiss. “One for the road,” he joked, and then slid off of Richie and got to his feet. He rounded the bed, plundered the top drawer for a bottle of Astroglide and a shiny foil packet. On his way back to Richie, Eddie ditched his underwear with his socks and undershirt.</p><p>“Holy fuck, you’re so hot,” Richie practically groaned, reaching out for Eddie once he was close enough, one hand pressed against Eddie’s stomach, nowhere near where Eddie needed his touch most. “What the actual fuck are you doing here with a schlub like me?”</p><p>“You’re hot, too, Richie.” Eddie pushed some of Richie’s curly hair away from his face. “I’ve already told you this.”</p><p>“I still don’t believe you.”</p><p>“Well,” Eddie kneeled onto the bed, straddling Richie’s lap, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Let me try to convince you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so this chapter is a little shorter than i intended because it's actually only half of what was supposed to happen. yikes. but you know these two, they never fucking shut up.</p><p>i can make no promises about when chapter three will be up, but hopefully soon? (i spent most of my time working on this chapter just trying to get them into richie's apartment, hopefully now they're there, the time will fly)</p><p>in the mean time, you can find me find me on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/andtimestood/">here</a> and on Tumblr <a href="https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</p><p>Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. smiles await you when you rise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Richie smiled and kissed Eddie’s shoulder again before rolling out of bed. This time, Eddie let himself study Richie’s naked form, his eyes dancing over the curve of his ass to the grabbable love handles at his hips. “Stop objectifying me,” Richie teased, grinning at Eddie over his shoulder.</p><p>Eddie’s face burned bright red. “Shut up and get me something to wear.”</p><p>“Ooh, baby, keep bossing me around. It really does it for me.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>(Eddie was pleased to find out that Richie blushed deep red across the nape of his neck and down the wide expanse of his back)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eddie woke up slowly the next morning, tucked between the soft sheets of Richie’s bed. He was well-rested in a way that only happened when you fell asleep after a good work out. Or a good fucking.</p><p>(And it was, in fact, a good fucking)</p><p>The two of them had a kind of synergy in bed, the stuff that always felt good somehow feeling better when it was Richie who was doing it to him. When it came to hook-ups, Eddie hardly dallied; they were a race to get off and then get out. But with Richie, they took their time, ramping each other up before backing off and letting their arousal simmer.</p><p>By the end of it, Eddie was bone tired and fucked out. Richie had, once he had caught his breath and mustered up the energy, wandered off to the en suite for a damp washcloth, wiping down Eddie’s stomach when he returned. They laid together, afterwards, just two parentheses curved towards each other.</p><p>“You wanna stay the night?” Richie asked, timid. Nervous. Rather than justify such a stupid question with an answer, Eddie leaned over to slide his mouth over Richie’s. “That a yes?” he asked when Eddie pulled back.</p><p>Eddie wanted to tease Richie, but the comedian seemed a little too fragile to handle that at this moment. “I’d love to stay the night.” Richie sighed, relieved. He closed the distance between them again to kiss Eddie. When they separated, Eddie asked, “Can we shower first though?”</p><p>“<em>We</em>?” Richie sounded intrigued.</p><p>“C’mon,” Eddie laughed, rolling out of bed and pulling Richie with him. They walked to the bathroom, hand-in-hand, which was so fucking trite that Eddie couldn’t even meet his own gaze in the mirror. Instead, he watched Richie putter around the bathroom naked, gathering clean towels and, remarkably, a turquoise toothbrush in its sterile packaging.</p><p>“Here,” Richie said, handing Eddie the toothbrush. Eddie eyed it carefully, which seemed to make Richie anxious. “I don’t have, like, a bunch of new toothbrushes kicking around for hook-ups,” he added quickly. “My dad used to be a dentist, and when he retired, he sent me a box of toothbrushes. As a joke. I think.”</p><p>Eddie studied the toothbrush and, sure enough, <em>Dr. Wentworth Tozier, DDS</em> and a phone number were printed along the handle. “<em>Wentworth</em>?”</p><p>“It’s a family name.”</p><p>“You sound a little defensive,” Eddie teased, prying the toothbrush from its packaging. Richie took the trash from him and tossed it into a little garbage can under the sink.</p><p>“So, I love my dad, even though he named me Wentworth, fuckin’ sue me.” Richie sidled up next to him, taking his own toothbrush in hand and squeezing toothpaste over it. He handed the tube to Eddie next, got his toothbrush wet, and began brushing his teeth.</p><p>Eddie tried not to watch Richie as he brushed his teeth, but he couldn’t help it. He had a similar electric toothbrush to the one Eddie had at home, the comedian taking his time to properly clean his teeth. He finished before Eddie, after exactly two minutes of brushing, and spat into the sink. He filled a little glass next to the tap with water to rinse, and then moved out of the way to Eddie could do the same.</p><p>Once he had rinsed his mouth and toothbrush (dropping it into the cup next to Richie’s), Eddie looked over at Richie, who was turning on the shower. “You brush your teeth like your dad’s a dentist.”</p><p>“My dad <em>is</em> a dentist.” He reached out to test the water.</p><p>Eddie crowded up behind him, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin behind Richie’s ear, “it’s cute that’s all. Is the water warm enough?”</p><p>They spent more time in the shower touching a kissing than actually washing their bodies, but they were 40-year-old men, so in the end they fell back into Richie’s bed; dry, but still naked. After some squabbling over their sleeping arrangements, Eddie finally relented and let Richie be the big spoon, the comedian curling around his body, keeping Eddie comfortably warm as he drifted off to sleep.</p><p>Sometime in the night, they had separated, though Richie’s right ankle was crossed over Eddie’s left. Eddie pulled the covers off of his body, but immediately regretted it seeing it was fucking <em>freezing</em>. Unfortunately, Eddie was naked, and he had to piss like a horse.  </p><p>Like some sort of romcom heroine, Eddie tried to wrap the soft flat sheet around himself so he could get to the bathroom without literally freezing his balls off but the sheet must have been tucked under the mattress, so he was unable to pull it free.</p><p>“Whazt,” Richie grumbled from his side of the bed. He sat up, peering blearily at Eddie without his glasses, half of his hair sticking up (adorably). “Oh. Eds.” He reached out for his glasses on the nightstand and slid them on. “Morning. Are you okay?”</p><p>Eddie had frozen like a deer in headlights when Richie had awoken, pulling the sheet over his chest, scandalized. After a moment, Eddie relaxed his stance, though he was still a little embarrassed, for some reason, to have been caught. “Fine. Hi.”</p><p>“Hi,” Richie studied for a moment. “Were you... trying to sneak out? Because I can pretend to go back to sleep.”</p><p>“No,” Eddie said too quickly. “I just have to pee and it’s fucking freezing.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry.” Richie rolled over (Eddie did <em>not</em> look at his ass, he had more restraint than that) and grabbed his phone. “I’m always running hot,” Eddie could attest to that, “so I usually turn the heat down at night.” He swiped around a bit on his phone before turning his attention back to Eddie. “There, it should kick back in soon.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Eddie gave Richie a small smile, the other man returning the expression. Feeling emboldened, Eddie leaned over to press a chaste peck to Richie’s lips, conscious of his own morning breath. “Hi,” he said again, once he had pulled away.</p><p>“Hi, Eds. You sleep okay?”</p><p>“Mhm, you?”</p><p>Richie’s face flushed beautifully and tipped his head down. “Better than usual.” Eddie leaned over and kissed him again, only managing to press his lips to the corner of Richie’s mouth. Before Eddie could pull away, Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s middle and angled his head to kiss Eddie properly.</p><p>Eddie, however, was a little too self-conscious to let Richie stick his tongue in his mouth before he brushed his teeth. He gently pushed Richie away. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said as Richie pouted.</p><p>“Fine,” he sighed, world weary. Richie loosened his grip on Eddie, “though, you should know, I don’t care about your morning breath.”</p><p>“Well, I do,” Eddie felt himself flush.</p><p>“Dude, you literally saw my asshole last night, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”</p><p>“Fuck off.” Eddie pulled back the sheets, but it was still freezing. “Jesus fuck it’s cold.”</p><p>Richie crowded up to his side, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s bare shoulder. “Sorry. Do you want to borrow some clothes?”</p><p>As much as Eddie grimaced at the thought of wearing someone else’s underwear, the idea of putting on his own dirty underwear made him literally want to die. “Sure,” he said carefully.</p><p>Richie smiled and kissed Eddie’s shoulder again before rolling out of bed. This time, Eddie let himself study Richie’s naked form, his eyes dancing over the curve of his ass to the grabbable love handles at his hips. “Stop objectifying me,” Richie teased, grinning at Eddie over his shoulder.</p><p>Eddie’s face burned bright red. “Shut up and get me something to wear.”</p><p>“Ooh, baby, keep bossing me around. It really does it for me.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>(Eddie was pleased to find out that Richie blushed deep red across the nape of his neck and down the wide expanse of his back)</p><p>“Just boxers and a shirt okay?” Richie asked at last. “Or do you want pants?”</p><p>Eddie could only imagine tripping around in a pair of Richie’s too-long sweat pants like a baby deer. Rather than face the embarrassment he said, “shirt and boxers are fine.”</p><p>“Here you go Spagheds,” Richie tossed him a pair of navy plaid boxers and soft dark gray t-shirt.</p><p>“Don’t fucking call me that.” Eddie straightened out the shirt, at a loss for words at seeing the design printed on the front. “What the fuck is this shirt?”</p><p>“Isn’t it great?” Richie smirked his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of dark green boxer briefs.</p><p>“It’s an affront to anyone with eyes.”</p><p>(The shirt in question was made of a nice, soft cotton, but printed on it was a large bass with even larger letters spelling out <em>MILF</em>. Beneath it in much, <em>much</em> smaller letters, it said <em>Man, I Love Fishing</em>. It was horrendously ugly in a way that wasn’t even remotely charming. And Richie was already working at a sizable advantage in that arena)</p><p>“That <em>is</em> how most people would describe my fashion sense.”</p><p>“I’m not wearing this,” the threw the shirt at Richie’s naked chest.</p><p>“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers,” Richie replied magnanimously, though he put the shirt on himself without complaint. “No take-backs on this one,” he pulled another shirt from the drawer and tossed it to Eddie. “If you don’t like it, you’ll have to walk around half-naked.”</p><p>“Oh like that’s such an inconvenience to you.” Eddie shook the shirt out, preparing himself. He was shocked into silence at the sheer absurdity of the design, however. Printed in red across the soft heather gray of the shirt was the baffling phrase: <em>Be Danced, or Dance</em>. “Okay, what the fuck does this mean?”</p><p>Richie laughed, half-snorting through his nose. “I have no fucking clue, dude. It’s one of those poorly translated shirts from Japan. Or maybe it’s Korean. I can’t remember where I got it. I have a couple others that are even more absurd, if you can believe it.”</p><p>Eddie studied the shirt further, brows knitting together. “Are you sure it’s not some... I don’t know, neo-Nazi inside joke?”</p><p>“God I fucking hope not, I wear that shirt a lot.”</p><p>That made warmth spread across Eddie’s chest, and to hide the flush, he pulled the t-shirt over his head. It was soft with over-washing, but it was still a little too big for Eddie’s petite frame. Eddie tugged on the boxers under the covers, still a little too cold to get out of bed.</p><p>“Are you, uh” Richie seemed to have lapsed back into anxiety, “hungry? I can make us breakfast. Or just coffee if you have somewhere you need to be.”</p><p>Eddie, who was literally wearing Richie’s clothes, just cocked an eyebrow at the comedian, waiting for him to catch on. Richie just burned pink, so Eddie figured he may as well take pity on the poor guy. “I could eat. But I don’t drink coffee. And you shouldn’t either—”</p><p>“You’re very hot, and I find your ranting very cute, but please don’t ruin coffee for me. It’s one of the few good things in my life.”</p><p>Eddie sighed heavily, but he relented. “Fine. I will take some tea if you have any.”</p><p>“Green tea okay? I’m pretty sure that’s all I have.”</p><p>“That’s perfect.”</p><p>Richie smiled gratefully, leaning down to kiss Eddie soundly on the mouth. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth in the guest bath, so you can have my bathroom all to yourself.”</p><p>“Thanks, Rich.” At the nickname, Richie flushed and then scurried out of the room, seemingly too embarrassed to stick around for the kiss Eddie was about to lay on him.</p><p>With a sigh, Eddie slid out of bed. It was still a little chilly, but he was no longer in danger of freezing his balls off, so it seemed safe enough to get out of the warm confines of Richie’s king-sized bed. Once in the bathroom, Eddie quickly relieved himself and then washed his hands before brushing his teeth.</p><p>While brushing, Eddie started poking around the bathroom. He didn’t get a good look at it the night before, seeing as there was a naked Richie Tozier to ogle at. It seemed like Richie’s personality had trickled into his bathroom as well, there were little tchotchkes taking up every inch of horizontal space, and potted plants lined the high window, their vines and leaves spilling out over the side of their mismatched pots. Eddie stroked the waxy leaves before moving on to the little linen closet that Richie had produced a clean set of towels from the night before. Eddie snooped through the cabinet’s other contents, finding some basic first-aid supplies and an array of over the counter medicines. </p><p>The night before, Eddie had noticed that the grout in the shower stall was a bright white, as if it were cleaned regularly. This had pleased Eddie greatly, and he wasted no time showing Richie his appreciation for his clean bathroom. Eddie was glad to find out that this wasn’t some orgasm-induced delusion, and the shower was actually spotless. The shelves in the corner of the shower were packed with bottles, and Eddie couldn’t help but take a look at each one. He was surprised to find that Richie used sulfate-free shampoo and a matching conditioner, though, by the state of his curls, he really shouldn’t have been so shocked that Richie took proper care of his hair.</p><p>With all of his snooping done, Eddie moved to wash his hands again before going looking for Richie.</p><p>“Hey,” the man in question said, poking his head inside the bathroom door. “Stop looking through my medicine cabinet and come eat.”</p><p>“You don’t have a medicine cabinet,” Eddie finished off washing his hands, drying them on the towel hanging next to the sink. “I was looking through your linen closet. You have a bunch of expired medicine, by the way.”</p><p>Richie snorted and rolled his eyes, gesturing Eddie out of the bathroom and towards the living room. “Duly noted, Eds.”</p><p>As Eddie walked into the living room, there was a flash of white in his peripheral vision. Eddie turned to watch Amy the Deaf Cat, dart up the stairs to the loft. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but the response died in his throat once the smell of breakfast wafted over to him.</p><p>“Holy shit, what is that smell?”</p><p>“Bacon?” Richie responded, confused.</p><p>Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he had bacon, maybe brunch with Bev and Mike a few months ago? Though, he didn’t remember it ever smelling so fucking good. “Is it like... special bacon?”</p><p>Richie laughed again, sliding a mug of tea across the counter to him. “Special bacon? Like, the weed brownie version of bacon?”</p><p>“What? Fuck no. Like...” Eddie struggled to find a response, wrapping his hands around his mug. “Organic, or something.”</p><p>“Are you one of those guys that likes to know the name of your meat?” Richie only seemed to realize the double entendre after he had spoken, his face cracking into a wide smile. “Hey, Eds—”</p><p>“Nope. I don’t want to hear whatever dirty joke you’ve got queued up. I thought you said breakfast was ready, where’s my food?”</p><p>“Fine,” Richie sighed, smiling all the while. He took a plate in each hand and jerked his head towards the dining table near Richie’s indoor greenhouse. “Let’s eat.” They sat down, Richie placing one of the dark green ceramic plates in front of Eddie before rounding the table to sit across from him. Eddie studied the plate, trying to make heads or tails of the meal. “It’s a breakfast burrito,” Richie said good-naturedly before taking a hearty bite.</p><p>Eddie followed Richie’s suit, picking up the burrito and taking a bite. Much to his surprise, there was a fried egg inside of the tortilla, the yellow yolk pouring out of the burrito and onto the plate.</p><p>“What the hell?”</p><p>“Oh,” Richie said, mouth full. He took a moment to swallow before adding, “Sorry, I should’ve warned you. This is not your normal breakfast burrito.”</p><p>Eddie had not, admittedly, eaten a lot of breakfast burritos in his life. In fact, the first and last time could remember eating one was in college, but it was nothing like this breakfast burrito, no rubbery eggs, cheap sausage, or canned salsa. Just from one bite, Eddie was overwhelmed with flavor. Bacon, cheese, salt, and a perfect fried egg to boot.</p><p>He took another bite, this one bigger than the last, his desire to satiate his hunger overpowering his want to savor the burrito.</p><p>“Do you like it?” Richie asked, like an idiot. Like this wasn’t the greatest thing Eddie had ever eaten.</p><p>“This is the greatest thing I have ever eaten.”</p><p>Richie blushed, pink blooming across his cheeks. After a moment he tried to school his features into something more confident and assured, but Eddie could see right through him. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Thank <em>youf</em>,” Eddie responded, mouth full. He chewed and swallowed before he continued. “Where’d you learn to make this?”</p><p>“Nowhere. I made it up.” Eddie’s face must have betrayed his shock, because Richie rushed to clarify, “I mean, it’s just hangover food,” he replied, now trying to appear modest. “I came up with it during my short stint in college.”</p><p>That made sense to Eddie, for the most part the burrito was made up of cheap ingredients and required very little culinary skill to pull off. He could only imagine what it would be like to wake up at 20 years old, hungover, and to have a gangly-in-a-cute-way Richie Tozier hand him this breakfast burrito.</p><p>(He probably would’ve proposed on the spot)</p><p>“Wait, I thought you said you’ve never been hungover.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I had roommates and friends who did. That’s why I was in charge of breakfast.” Eddie regarded the comedian suspiciously. “What? You don’t believe me?”</p><p>Eddie used what was left of his burrito to sop up some of the bright yellow yolk that had poured out on to the plate. “I do believe you,” he said at last, truthfully. “I’m still mad about it.”</p><p>“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Richie said, smiling at him dopily above the rim of his coffee mug.</p><p>Eddie felt himself glower. “No I’m not.”</p><p>“Cute, cute, cute!” Eddie kicked him under the table. “Ow! What was that for?”</p><p>“Calling me cute.”</p><p>“Scowling only makes you even cuter, Eds.”</p><p>Eddie had just taken another rather large bite and he was unable to respond appropriately to Richie’s statement, so he just flipped him off instead. Richie laughed brightly, Eddie trying to kick him again. However, Richie caught his foot between his ankles.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, your feet are cold.”</p><p>“I have bad circulation.”</p><p>“Well, give me your other foot, I’ll warm those babies up.”</p><p>Eddie slowly slid his foot over to Richie under the table. The comedian made room for Eddie’s foot between his ankles, his skin warm against Eddie’s. Richie smiled at him before taking another bite of his burrito.</p><p>“What are you doing today?” Eddie asked.</p><p>Richie hummed, chewing and then swallowing. “Nothing, I was planning on just lazing about. You?”</p><p>“Same. Nothing,” Eddie shrugged, aiming for casualness. Richie smiled at him from across the table, his eyes doing that thing again where one side was crinkled up more than the other. Under the table, their legs were still pressed together.</p><p>“You wanna watch a movie or something?”</p><p>Eddie waited a moment before responding, not wanting to seem too eager. “Sure.”</p><p>They finished up their breakfast, not that Eddie had much of his burrito left. He watched Richie talk and eat (sometimes at the same time, which was only kind of endearing when it wasn’t kind of gross), jumping from one seemingly unrelated topic to another.</p><p>“Sorry,” Richie said after a particularly strange tangent about Jane Fonda (<em>she was basically blacklisted during the Vietnam War because of all of her protests, you know? And she’s apologized for the photo a million times—</em>), of all people. “I haven’t taken my meds yet today.”</p><p>“Meds?”</p><p>He stood up and walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed an orange bottle, the pills inside rattling around as he opened it up and poured one into his cupped palm. Richie swallowed the pill dry and padded back towards the table. “Wellbutrin. For my ADHD <em>and</em> clinical depression.” Richie grinned, mostly good-naturedly.</p><p>“Mm. I was on Prozac for a while a few years ago.”</p><p>“Why’d you stop?”</p><p>It had taken Eddie a long time to agree to go on medication, despite Kit’s encouragement. She knew about his extensive medical anxiety, but she proposed that Eddie try antidepressants to address his chronic depression and generalized anxiety. After experiencing some Very Normal Side Effects, Eddie spiraled. It was a dark couple of months, in which Eddie had withdrawn from his friends (<em>and</em> his therapist), careening towards rock-bottom. Once Kit was hip to Eddie’s mental state, she took him off the meds immediately. She warned him that the withdrawl would be worse than the side effects, and Eddie had been foolish enough to not believe her. Thankfully, Bev had insisted on sleeping on Eddie's couch as the drugs finally left his system. Kit decided that it was best that they steer clear from chemical interventions in the meantime, focusing more on talk therapy and other therapeutic exercises. </p><p>“It’s a long story,” Eddie shrugged. “I just had bad reaction.”</p><p>“I was on Adderal when I first started taking anti-depressants and they did <em>not</em> interact well.” Richie, who had finished his breakfast at last, moved to grab Eddie’s plate.</p><p>Eddie swatted his hand out of the way. “Fuck off.” He stood and grabbed Richie’s plate instead and headed towards the kitchen. “You cooked, I’ll do the dishes.”</p><p>“Well I’m not going to stop you. I fuckin’ hate doing the dishes,” Richie said, following Eddie into the kitchen, their empty mugs in hand. “My sister and I have dishes trauma.”</p><p>“What the fuck is <em>dishes trauma</em>?” Eddie asked, squeezing soap onto a sponge.  </p><p>“My parents didn’t believe in grounding us, so whenever we did something wrong, we had to do the dishes. There was one time that my mom found some weed in my room and I had to dishes every night for a <em>month</em>. And if I forgot to do them before I went to bed, she would wake me up in the middle of the night and drag me by the ear into the kitchen.” Richie smiled nostalgically as he told this story, so it didn’t seem like there was any love lost between them.</p><p>“I never got grounded, either,” Eddie said, scrubbing at the dried egg yolk on his plate.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of The World’s Most Perfect Son, Edward-middle-name-unknown-Kaspbrak,” Richie mocked, though his twitching smile gave up the ghost.</p><p>“I wasn’t a perfect son, I was just really good at not getting caught.”</p><p>Richie studied him for a moment. “Yeah, I came home reeking of pot all the time, it was only a matter of time before Mags found it. Though, I’m pretty sure that she and my dad just smoked it later.”</p><p>Eddie moved on to the greasy fry pan, scrubbing at it with a Brillo pad next to the sink. “I once had a full on conversation with my mother when I was absolutely sloshed, and she didn’t know a thing. It’s one of my proudest moments,” He smiled up at Richie to find the comedian already looking at him, his mouth twisted in a half-smile. “And it’s <em>Franciszek</em>.”</p><p>“Gesundheit.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” Eddie deadpanned.</p><p>“Sorry, what is Frak—” Richie paused, face twisted in confusion. He tried again, “Franch. Fren—”</p><p>“Franciszek,” Eddie repeated, slower this time. “My middle name.” After a moment, he added, “I was also named after my father.”</p><p>Richie pushed away from the counter and crossed the kitchen, with a wide, warm hand on Eddie’s cheek, he pulled him in for a deep kiss. When he pulled away, Richie was inexplicably out of breath. “Can you say anything else in Russian? Because that was very hot.”</p><p>“For one, it’s <em>Polish</em>—“</p><p>“Still hot.”</p><p>“—And, no I can’t.”</p><p>“You <em>can’t</em> or you <em>won’t</em>?”</p><p>“Can’t. My dad died when I was little. Also, I don’t think he spoke any Polish.”</p><p>Richie’s amused expression blanched sometime around the <em>my dad died when I was a kid</em> bomb. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not <em>okay</em>, but it’s been a long time.”</p><p>“Okay,” Richie replied warily. “You done? With the dishes, obviously,” he tacked on at the end, bashful.</p><p>Eddie looked down at the sink. “Almost, I just need to rinse everything.”</p><p>“Alright.” Richie pressed a kiss to Eddie’s temple, warm and solid against his side. “One for the road,” he explained. “I’m going to go find Amy.”</p><p>Eddie pressed his lips together, as to not smile to brightly at Richie as he padded out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the loft. After allowing himself a moment to track Richie’s form, he returned his attention back to the dishes.</p><p>From the loft, Eddie could hear Richie cooing uselessly at the deaf cat. Less than a minute later, Richie was walking back down the stairs, speaking in non-sensical little phrases. Eddie looked up to see Richie carrying a bundle of bright white fur that could only be Amy or a very twitchy faux-fur throw.</p><p>“I found her,” he said gesturing to the squirming form in his arms with his chin.</p><p>“I can see that,” Eddie replied as he finally turned off the tap. “Hello, Amy.” After a long, quiet moment, Eddie felt himself burn bright red. Richie, for his part, barley betrayed his mirth at the situation, just his hunched shoulder shaking silently. “Oh fuck off, you were talking to her earlier.”</p><p>“She can feel the vibration of my voice through my chest, even if she can’t hear the actual words.”</p><p>(Eddie, embarrassingly, wanted to also press his face to Richie’s chest as he spoke)</p><p>“Whatever,” he said at last, cheeks still burning. Eddie dried off his hands on a towel hanging on the oven door before walking over to Richie and Amy, the blue-eyed feline watching him warily as he did so. “Can I—” he started, reaching out to pet her, but Amy let out a loud and, frankly, tone-deaf <em>meow</em> before springing out of Richie’s arms and pouncing away. “Never mind,” Eddie said, trying not to sound too hurt.</p><p>“Sorry,” Richie said, looking genuinely apologetic. “She’s real skittish around strangers. But there are some cat treats in the fridge if you want to try and trick her into loving you.”</p><p>(Eddie was usually against tricking people against their better judgement into liking him, but this seemed like an acceptable exception to this rule)</p><p>“I’m not above bribery,” Eddie said, making his way to the fridge.</p><p>“It’s in a bag on the door,” Richie replied, his voice muffled as he turned away to hunt Amy down again.</p><p>Eddie had no trouble finding the cat treats, and he was pleased to find out just how organized and well-stocked Richie’s fridge was. He took the bag of cat treats and closed the fridge door soundly. He found Richie on the green velvet couch, cradling Amy in his arms.</p><p>“I got the goods,” Eddie said, shaking the bag to get Richie’s attention.</p><p>The comedian tipped his head over the back of the couch to smile at Eddie upside down. “Get over here before she makes a break for it again.”</p><p>Eddie hurried over to the couch, rounding it and settling next to Richie who tightened his arms around Amy. “How many should I—” he started as he opened the bag. But as soon as Amy could smell the treats she wriggled out of Richie’s grasp. And rather than darting away as she had before, she inched her way towards Eddie.</p><p>“One at a time, make her work for it,” Richie said, smiling softly as Amy inched closer to Eddie’s hand.</p><p>Eddie did just that, taking a treat from the bag and offering up to Amy. She sniffed the treat dubiously, glancing up at Eddie to determine if it was a trick. “It’s okay,” Eddie said lowly, knowing full well that Amy couldn’t hear him. At last, she ducked her head and ate the treat, her little sandpaper tongue scratching the palm of  Eddie’s hand. She chewed quickly, licked Eddie’s hand again, and meowed demandingly. “Okay, okay,” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, “you can have more.”</p><p>He dug another treat out of the bag and held it out to Amy. She was much less wary this time around, crowding closer to Eddie as she ate out of his hand. “She seems to like you,” Richie said, smile evident in his voice.</p><p>“I don’t think it has anything to do with me.” Amy batted her head against Eddie’s empty hand.</p><p>“I doubt that,” Richie laughed quietly, “she wants you to pet her, dude.”</p><p>“Oh.” Eddie brushed his fingers over Amy’s downy-soft forehead, the cat purring loudly and crawling into his lap. “Well, that was easy.”</p><p>“You callin’ my cat easy?”</p><p>Eddie glanced up to find Richie grinning at him openly. “Yup.”</p><p>“You don’t deserve her,” he said, defiant, as he pulled Amy off of Eddie’s lap. She meowed indignantly, but it seemed to be just an act, because Amy took no time at all to curl up against Riche’s chest. “You’re very hard to get, aren’t you, Amy-cat?” Amy purred even louder at Richie spoke, her face pressed firmly against his sternum. “You want to pick the movie?” Richie asked, looking over at Eddie. “What?” he added after studying Eddie’s carefully-contained expression.</p><p>(He was trying not to grin to widely, or melt against the green velvet couch, or strip down to his birthday suit and let Richie do terrible things to him)</p><p>“Nothing. And, sure.”</p><p>Without jostling Amy too much, Richie pointed to one of the bookshelves. “The bottom two shelves over there have DVDs, but you can also check Netflix if you want. Or we can rent something.”</p><p>Eddie nodded and stood, crossing over to the bookshelf and settling on the floor, the hardwood cold against his bare legs. He scanned through the titles quickly, just to get an idea of the kinds of movies Richie had. It was mostly 80s summer blockbusters (and, astonishingly, every single John Hughes film ever made, including <em>Career Opportunities</em> for some reason) and a wide-array of sci-fi films, including, but not limited to, the entire <em>Star Wars</em> Saga.</p><p>“Why the fuck do you own this?” Eddie said pulling <em>The Phantom Menace</em> off of the shelf and waving it at Richie.</p><p>“Hey, I know it’s bad, but I need the whole set.”</p><p>“I guess,” Eddie slid the DVD back into its place. “You know, Jar Jar Binks is racist.”</p><p>“Did Mike the Librarian say that?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Eddie pulled <em>Alien</em> out and put it into the maybe pile.</p><p>“Then I believe it.” Richie then started humming quietly. Eddie turned around to see that Richie had reclined across the couch, Amy perched on his chest. His humming gradually grew louder until Richie was <em>meow</em>-ing to the tune of a familiar melody.</p><p>“You know, that’s not Mozart,” Eddie paused and added <em>The Matrix</em> to the pile, “or Beethoven.”</p><p>“Then who is it?” Richie asked.</p><p>“Chopin. Nocturne no. 9.”</p><p>“Huh,” Richie said thoughtfully. After a few moments, his meowing started again, this one more up-tempo and lively that the last song.</p><p>“That’s Vivaldi.” Richie paused for a few seconds before launching into yet another song. “Okay, you have to fucking know that that’s <em>Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy</em> by Tchaikovsky,” Eddie huffed, clambering to his feet. He took the small pile of movies with him, collapsing onto the couch next to Richie.</p><p>He sat up, Amy taking her leave and dashing away to some far corner of the apartment. “I didn’t know that actually.” Eddie levelled him with a look. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t Mozart, but I didn’t know who actually composed it.”</p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes. “Here, you pick one from these.”</p><p>Richie laughed, taking the pile of DVDs and flipping through them. “How do you know so much about classical music?” he sorted the movies into two piles, though Eddie wasn’t sure which was which.</p><p>Eddie thought about playing it down, pretending to be modest, but he did know quite a lot about classical music. “I listened to it a lot growing up, it was that or Christian music. And not the good kind of Christian music.”</p><p>Richie glanced up at him, chucking quietly. “There’s good Christian music?”</p><p>“Yeah, like Gospel music. You know, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin.”</p><p>“Oh, so <em>non-white</em> Christian Music.”</p><p>Eddie laughed, “Yeah, I guess so. I wasn’t allowed to listen to anything with a beat.”</p><p>“Geeze,” Richie picked up the smaller of the two piles to narrow the choice down even farther. “Your mother sounds strict.”</p><p>Eddie studied Richie’s profile, his mouth twisting in thought as he chose between movies. He was beautiful and rumpled, almost cast in a silhouette by the gray light filtering in from the window on the other side of the room.</p><p>“She was more than strict,” he said at last.</p><p>Richie glanced over at him. “How does <em>A New Hope</em> sound?” he held up the box, wiggling it enticingly.</p><p>“Sounds perfect.”</p><p>Richie took it upon himself to get the movie started, fiddling with his unnecessarily complicated entertainment system. Eddie, in the meantime, tried to make himself comfortable on the couch, but there was a pressing issue.</p><p>“I’m cold,” he told Richie just as he was settling himself onto the couch next to Eddie, the movie paused on <em>a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away</em>...</p><p>“Oh. Do you want me to turn up the heat?” Richie asked, reaching for his phone.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay,” Richie said, confused. “Do you want to borrow a sweater or something?”</p><p>Eddie opened his mouth to respond, his response dying on his tongue. It wasn’t what he was angling for, but Eddie didn’t <em>not</em> want to wear one of Richie’s sweatshirts (hopefully one that smelled like him) while they watched the movie.</p><p>“Sure. Thanks.”</p><p>“You got it, Spagheds.” Richie leaned in for a kiss before standing up. “One for the road,” he grinned bashfully. “I’ll be back in a Jiffy.”</p><p>Eddie watched him go, cheeks burning. In the time that Richie was gone, he schooled his features back into something a little more normal.</p><p>It didn’t take Richie long to return, a light gray sweatshirt in tow. “Here you go,” he handed Eddie the sweater and settled onto the couch next to Eddie.</p><p>He pulled the crewneck over his head, the fabric soft with years of wear and washing. Once it was on, Eddie glanced down at the front, mentally preparing himself for whatever inane phrase was on the front. He was surprised to find, however, that <em>Georgia Bulldogs</em> was embroidered across it in red block letters.</p><p>“I thought you went to UChicago?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I stole that from my friend Stan. He left it at my parents’ house one winter break when we were in college and I just never gave it back,” Richie shrugged.</p><p>Eddie studied him for a moment, keeping his face perfectly neutral.</p><p>(Or so he thought)</p><p>“What? Are you <em>jealous</em>?” Richie dragged the word out, like a little kid on the playground. <em>Do you like him, or do you </em>like<em>-like him?</em></p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“So, yes,” Richie laughed. Eddie’s scowl didn’t budge, which only made Richie grin wider. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, Eds. I promise.”</p><p>Eddie didn’t like to be so easily perceived, and his scowl only deepened. “I’m not jealous.”</p><p>“Fine, we can agree to disagree—”</p><p>“That’s not how that works—”</p><p>“You ready to watch now?”</p><p>Eddie paused. “I’m still cold.”</p><p>“You sure you don’t want me to turn up the—what the hell are you doing.”</p><p>Eddie, having finally swallowed his pride, was pushing Richie until he was horizontal across the couch, leaving enough room for him to slide his body against Richie’s.</p><p>“Oh,” the comedian said at last, Eddie tugging his arm to wrap around his own waist.</p><p>“Yeah, <em>oh</em>, you daft fucking Muppet.”</p><p>Richie laughed, Eddie feeling more than hearing the sound from where they were pressed together.</p><p>(Amy was a genius, really, and Eddie didn’t blame her for wanting to spend all her time against Richie’s chest)</p><p>Richie pressed a kiss behind Eddie’s ear. “You comfortable?” he asked, voice dipped low.</p><p>“Mhm,” Eddie responded, jelly-boned. Richie pressed play on the remote, the hi-def surround sound speakers kicking in all at once.</p><p>***</p><p>They laid sprawled out on the couch for a good portion of the movie, though Richie started to get fidgety around the time that the Death Star blew up Alderaan. Just after Obi-Wan died, he paused the movie.</p><p>“You okay?” Eddie asked, voice thick from inactivity.</p><p>“Yeah,” Richie sat up, the whole right side of his body disheveled from lying on it for so long. “But I can feel my spine turning into a Slinky, and not in a sexy way.”</p><p>“I don’t think that Slinkies have ever been, or could ever be, sexy,” Eddie replied, sitting up to give Richie room to move his body into a more comfortable position.</p><p>Richie levelled him with a solemn expression. “Slinkies were my sexual awakening, actually.”</p><p>“You’re telling me you’re some kind of novelty-toy pervert?”</p><p>The comedian’s expression threatened to crack, but he got himself under control. “Yeah, it’s a really slippery slope. First it was Slinkies and Magic 8-Balls, and then...” Richie paused. “You know what, I can’t think of anything else that doesn’t make me sound like an actual pervert.”</p><p>Eddie laughed laying back down to settle his head on Richie’s very comfortable thighs. “Good, because it was getting really weird but I didn’t want to have to leave.”</p><p>“You’re always threatening to leave me,” Richie said. “I mean—”</p><p>Eddie turned so he could see Richie, the comedian blushing bright red. He sat up and reached out to cup Richie’s stubbled cheek, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to Richie’s mouth. If anything, his blush only burned deeper when Eddie leaned away. “Can we finish the movie?” he asked after a long, charged moment.</p><p>“Yeah, of course.” Richie took the remote in hand and pressed play. Eddie settled back down on his thighs, a small smile curving across his mouth.</p><p>As Luke was preparing to join the Resistance fighters, one of Richie’s hands found its way to Eddie’s hair, brushing through the strands, though the movement was stilted and self-conscious. “This okay?” he asked.</p><p>“Mhm,” Eddie hummed, leaning into Richie’s touch. The comedian’s ministrations increased in earnest, Eddie sighing contentedly.</p><p>“You know, the when  they filmed this scene it was like, 110 degrees. So the actors only wore the absolute minimum of their costumes.” Richie scratched lightly at Eddie’s scalp. “Like, Mark Hamill was just Pooh Bear-ing it around set.”</p><p>“What the fuck is <em>Pooh Bear-ing</em>?”</p><p>“You know, just walking around with a shirt on but nothing on the bottom.”</p><p>“You mean to tell me that <em>Mark Hamill</em> was walking around the set of <em>Star Wars</em> with his dick out?”</p><p>“Okay," Richie paused, thinking, "he was probably wearing underwear.”</p><p>“I would fucking hope so.” Eddie felt Richie shaking with laughter underneath him.</p><p>They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Richie’s hand carding through Eddie’s hair as they watched. The other man didn’t speak up again until Han showed back up in the Falcon to assist the Resistance in blowing up the Death Star.</p><p>“Goddammit, young Harrison Ford could get it. I mean, old Harrison Ford could get it too, but young Harrison really does it for me.”</p><p>“I thought Slinkies were your sexual awakening,” Eddie yawned.</p><p>“I hate to break it to you, but that what we in the <em>industry</em>,” he pitched his voice higher (and somehow nasally-er), “call a <em>joke</em>.” His voice returned to its normal nasality. “For many years, my favorite sexual fantasy was making out with Harrison Ford. In the Han Solo costume, of course. That part is very important.” He looked down to see Eddie scowling. “What?”</p><p>“You’re one of those guys who idolizes Han because you think you’re like him, aren't you?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Richie said, sounding a little offended. “I mean, I’m obviously a Lando Calrissian. Have you seen the way that guy dresses?”</p><p>Eddie sat up and reached for the remote, pausing the movie. This was far too important of a conversation, and he needed to eliminate all distractions. “Are you saying that you <em>like</em> Lando?”</p><p>“What’s not to like?”</p><p>“I mean, the there is the whole thing about him betraying one of his oldest friends in the <em>literal next movie</em>?”</p><p>“He did it <em>reluctantly</em>—”</p><p>“And he basically sold Han off to Vader to be hand-delivered to his bookie.”</p><p>“Okay, but in <em>Return of the Jedi</em>, he goes undercover to help Luke save Han. And Leia. And then he destroys the second Death Star. He’s a good guy, if not a little misguided.”</p><p>Eddie regarded Richie carefully, eyes narrowed. Richie didn’t even flinch, instead, he broke out into a wide, toothy grin. “Fine, you can be Lando” he said at last, laying back down across Richie’s lap. He unpaused the movie, and then added, “who does that make me?”</p><p>“I mean, I wanna say Luke. Y’know, because you’ve got that tight little twunk body—ow!” Eddie pinched a sensitive bit of Richie’s bare inner thigh, “<em>but</em>, you’re very clearly Han.”</p><p>“What does <em>that</em> mean?” Eddie rolled over to look up at Richie.</p><p>(He was still pretty cute, even from this angle)</p><p>“I’m just saying that if Han Solo lived in our universe, he would probably work on Wall Street.”</p><p>Eddie sat up violently, just barely managing to dodge Richie’s big, stupid head in the process. “Fuck you!”</p><p>Richie just laughed brightly, the bastard, and said, “I’m kidding.”</p><p>“No you’re not.”</p><p>He sighed. “You’re right, I’m not joking. But it’s okay! I like the whole conflicted-asshole/lovable-rogue thing you and Han have got going on. Obviously. I just said that my first sexual fantasy was making out with Harrison Ford in costume.”</p><p>Eddie paused, mouth pursed in displeasure. “You said it was your <em>favorite sexual fantasy</em>, actually.”</p><p>“Tomato, tomahto,” Richie shrugged, smiling good-naturedly. “Are you done being offended now?”</p><p>On the screen to his left, the Death Star was blowing up in a dazzling supernova of light. Eddie watched the scene for a moment before turning back to Richie. “I guess.” Because the movie was basically over, Eddie didn’t bother with laying back down. Instead, he leaned his head against the Richie’s bicep.</p><p>“You know,” Richie said, sounding almost shy, “Lando and Han definitely have some <em>history</em>,” he emphasized, “if you know what I mean.”</p><p>Eddie looked up at him, half upside down. “Are you saying that you think Han Solo and Lando Calrissian fucked?”</p><p>Richie shurgged, grinning at him crookedly. “It’s not gay if it’s in space.”</p><p>“You’re so stupid,” Eddie sighed, sitting up enough to slide his mouth over Richie’s.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello friends, thanks so much for reading! if you want you can buy the MILF (man i love fishing) shirt <a href="https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/9940020-milf-man-i-love-fishing-retro-vintage-sunset-gift?feed_sku=9940020D1V&amp;ar_clx=yes&amp;ar_channel=google&amp;ar_campaign=71700000074138311&amp;ar_adgroup=58700006420459240&amp;ar_ad=PRODUCT_GROUP&amp;ar_strategy=search&amp;utm_source=google&amp;utm_medium=cpc&amp;utm_campaign=G.PLA+-+%5BG.USA%5D+%5BL.ENG%5D+%5BC.TShirts%5D&amp;gclsrc=aw.ds&amp;gclid=Cj0KCQiA34OBBhCcARIsAG32uvN333DnQZmj95kvl2LQDHS0iO8GFMaMjOfg6n3j49TOL47lxAzGyioaAtq4EALw_wcB&amp;gclsrc=aw.ds">here</a>. and if any of you know where i can buy a "dance or be danced" shirt, pls let me know. </p><p>(if you are like me, and eddie, i would highly recommend making a breakfast burrito with a fried egg inside. it has changed my life)</p><p>you can find me on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/andtimestood/">here</a> and on Tumblr <a href="https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</p><p>Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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